The Dark Sentinel
by rtwofan
Summary: As the bomb rapidly approachs, Peter finds himself falling down a dark path as the stress weighs down on him. Postdistractions, AUNoncesty Paire. [COMPLETE]
1. Allyway Seer

**Alright, first off, I'd like to mention that I have fifteen of these chapters written. I've posted five for now, but if you like the story, I'll be happy to post the rest ) This is cross posted to Pairelove as well, and you can find it there.**

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING in this ENTIRE story. It's all NBC's, and Krings, and pretty much every head TV honcho. I'm not really sure, but I _do know_ that it is not mine.

Also un beta'ed so any mistakes are totally mine and you are free to throw fruit.

Lastly: It's NONCESTY Paire. That will not be underage later. But still. Please don't whine about the pair, because I didn't invent this ship, so if you don't like it, it ain't my doing.

Without futher ado...

**Prolouge**

**"Allyway Seer"**

"I don't have to cut her out, I have to_ remember_ her! I have to remember how she made me _feel!_"

With realization came consequence for Peter Petrelli. Emotions poured into his heart against his will; frustration, jealousy, and weariness. His hands were flickering in and out of visiblility before his eyes, trying to decide how he felt about Claude. Part of him wanted to beat the older man into a pulp, and the other half desperatly wanted mentoring. This indecisiveness set off a chain reaction in his body. Static screeched in Peter's ears, the result of being around that mind-reading cop. Before long, his eyes had also become milky white with prophetic vision.

Claude stared on, perplexed. He'd taught his fair share of students, but this was one lad that surprised him. Peter screamed and clutched at his head, seeing flashes of the bomb in his brain's projecting screen. Yet, like in his coma dreams, there were snippets that didn't make sense. Things that seemed more _real_.

"Oh God!" Peter cried. "It's happening!"

Two hours after he had woken up from his coma, and premonitions of Claude, Peter was introduced to the British man in person…in the spitting images from his dreams. Now, Peter was seeing similar flashes, but of something else. Someone in danger.

Simone was being held back…Nathan was walking ever so calmly towards him…his hands were a flaming orange…it was all the same-old-same-old. Peter had memorized the reel and could recite it backwards by now. He chose to ignore the bomb chatter and focused on the forewarnings in between. A bus….a bell tower…a café…a street sign. Peter concentrated on the signs and time, catching them and willing himself to remember them no matter what. A girl was there too, running, her mouth agape in fear and her blonde curls rippling behind her. Before Peter could decipher who she was, he felt a blow to his face and he slipped into blackness.

Claude leaned over the pupil that he had just knocked out, and sighed.

"Well," he shrugged. "It's a start."


	2. Saving Miss Bonnie Lass

**Chapter One**

"**Saving Miss Bonnie Lass"**

**FOUR DAYS LATER**

**CLAIRE BENNET**

**NEW YORK CITY**

Sun streamed through the blinds in Claire's hotel room. Out of human instinct, she blinked her eyes open, and then turned over to get the light out of her face. The alarm clock read 10:00 in the morning, and she wasn't a bit surprised. After arriving at the Newark airport at nearly midnight, she'd taken a taxi and desperately tried to find a cheap hotel with space open. Luckily, there was one on Foxtrot Avenue called the Liberty Inn that graciously took her in. A cute kitchen boy around her age even snuck her some room service when his boss wasn't looking.

Claire threw off her comforter and turned on the TV. Every other ad was a campaign commercial and Claire was reminded of how much she hated election season. In the next election, she'd be old enough to vote, a prospect that both amused and scared her.

_Lewis Rushton, _the girl remembered, staring out the window at the New York morning. _My real father is out there, somewhere. _

The day after she visited Meredith Gordon, Claire had gone back, demanding information about her father. Meredith had slowly obliged, explaining that Claire's real dad was a bit of an older man named Lewis Rushton. He'd disappeared one day, not long after Claire was born, leaving a letter saying that he had to go to New York, and wasn't coming back. Meredith hadn't heard from him since, but Claire figured that New York was as good a place as any to begin searching. He had probably gone somewhere else…it _had _been over fifteen years since he'd left. But perhaps someone knew something about him.

Plus, fate had had its way of leading Claire in the right direction lately.

Before she had crashed on her hotel bed the previous night, Claire made sure to grab a phone book from the lobby. Said book sat on her end table by the clock, and Claire pulled it into her lap.

She flipped to the "R" section, and tried to find a Rushton. There were a couple, but none that went by the first name "Lewis" or even with an "L" in their first initial. Claire crawled out of the bed, grabbed her Sidekick from the other side of the room, and plopped back down against her pillow. Calling all the names had worked to find her mom. Maybe this trick would work to find her father too.

Alas, no luck. Claire even called everyone with various spellings of Rushton, including Rushtan and Rushten, but no one knew who Claire's dad was. The last person said they knew a Lewis, and Claire's hopes skyrocketed, but the woman explained that Lewis was her three year old grandnephew. Claire apologized and hung up her phone.

She'd gone all this way for nothing. Not only was her father not there, but not even any of his family was. The only people that remained were friends and possibly co-workers, but how was she supposed to find _them? _Meredith said that Lewis used to work at Primatech Paper, ironically enough. Claire knew that Primatech's main headquarters in Queens, prompting all of her adoptive father's visits there. Still, after all the lies that Bennet had said to her, was there anyway for Claire to know if even Primatech was real at _all_?

Another campaign commercial came on, with catchy, inspiring music in the background.

"Who is Nathan Petrelli? A soldier …"

Claire looked up at her TV screen, her ears perking up at the word "Petrelli." She didn't know anything about Italian last names, or how common they were. As she kept her eyes on the screen, she absently flipped the phone book pages back to the "P" section.

"Nathan Petrelli is strong hand built on family values..."

The man that Claire had guessed to be Nathan himself was grinning, rather fakely Claire thought, and was surrounded by four other people. Two were boys, beaming up at him from his feet. The woman on Nathan's left was a small older lady with big brown eyes and black hair. She was probably his mother, much too old to be the politician's wife, though Claire noted the absence of one. After all, how could Nathan have children without a wife? Perhaps he was divorced?

But when Claire's eyes fell on the last person in the picture, she failed to care about any of her previous observations. The young man on Nathan's mother's other side…he had his arm wrapped comfortingly around the older woman, implying that he was also her son, and thus, Nathan's brother. Peter Petrelli smiled right at Claire, as if she was actually in front of him. If Claire's heart wasn't indestuctable, it would have stopped.

For weeks, Claire had yearned to talk to Peter, have a conversation that lasted for hours about their powers, his mission, everything. Claire admitted to herself that she may just be crushing a bit, but who wouldn't? A handsome stranger with a heart of gold coming to rescue the homecoming queen was something similar to every little girl's childhood fantasies.

Claire had been daydreaming so much, that she was slightly taken aback to see that the commerical had already ended. She looked down at the phone book between her hands, took a deep breath, and turned the pages back to her hero's name…

**PETER PETRELLI AND CLAUDE RAINES**

**NEW YORK CITY**

Every day after Peter's vision in the ally, he had come to a café on the corner of Foxtrot Avenue and Marigold Street, between 10:00am and noon. That much he had managed to cling to from his dream, and he'd angrily told Claude that he could have learned more if he hadn't been punched in the face.

Claude found this whole idea bonkers. "I know you think your dreams can tell the future, but what's so important about a bus and a café?"

"What's so important about a bum stealing out of a wallet?" retaliated Peter, arching an eyebrow. "I don't _know _what this means, okay? I just know that this is something I have to do."

The bell tower across the street rang out for 11:00. Peter's dream had shown many times, and 11:03 was one of them. Petrelli leaned forward in his wrought iron chair, looking around for any sign of a blonde, a bus, or danger.

"You couldn't have gotten a particular day of when this was going to happen, eh mate?" grumbled Claude, breaking Peter's concentration. "We've been coming here for the past three days looking for your blonde little Bonnie Lass. You want to be a hero, when you've got work to do. You still have no idea what you're-."

"Yes I do!" snapped Peter. "I figured everything out on my own. Now, I just need your help so that I can practice."

"You still haven't flown," remarked Claude bluntly. "Why is it, do you think, that you can regenerate so easily, but your body finds it so hard to fly?"

Peter mulled this over a bit, coming to a conclusion rather quickly, but hesitating before speaking it aloud. If he had to remember _feeling _people to use their powers, then how'd he feel about Nathan?

"I can't decide what to think about my brother," confessed Peter. "He's a jerk, I know, but I still love him…"

"Bingo!" applauded Claude. "But riddle me _this_: why do you love him?"

Peter stared. "He's my _brother_. Why wouldn't-,"

Claude interrupted him with a scoff. "That's not a reason, that's an excuse."

Peter sighed. The younger man was becoming more and more irritated at Claude as the days went by. His mentor had solemnly sworn that he wouldn't be throwing him off any more buildings, but Peter knew that Claude still had tricks up his baggy sleeves. The only thing keeping Peter away from standing up and leaving was that he had positively begged Claude for help. It would be idiotic for him to throw in the towel on his own requests.

"I-," Peter began, but restarted. "Nathan fixes everything. It looks like he cares, but I'm not sure if he really does. He drops everything and makes it all better, before I even have a chance to _try _and repair things. Then, he gripes about what a jerk I was to _make _him fix everything, when it was all his will. He never gives me a chance…he doesn't trust me. The only reason he looks after me is because the guilt would kill him if he didn't. He's got a good heart, I promise, but things keep getting in the way…"

Claude's eye line no longer met Peter's. Instead, his eyebrows were up in his bangs and he was pointedly looking at Peter's rear end. Confused and slightly embarrassed, Peter looked down.

He was floating two inches above the seat of his chair.

**CLAIRE **

There were only two Petrellis listed in the phone book: Nathan, and Angela. Peter himself was oddly unlisted. Claire figured that Angela was probably Peter's mother, and it would be more suitable to call her then Peter's congressman brother. The blonde girl picked up her Sidekick again and called the number.

Nobody answered. A machine came on, but Claire hung up before she could leave a message. She bit her tounge. If Nathan Petrelli didn't pick up, she was seriously set back more than just one knotch.

The phone rang four times before someone picked up.

"Petrelli residence, may I ask who is calling?"

"Uh…hello, this is Claire Bennet. May I speak to Nathan Petrelli, please?"

The lady on the other side of the line tutted. "No, miss. Nathan is at work right now. Would you like to leave a message?"

"No than-…well…wait a second. Is there anyone else in the house right now?"

"Just Mrs.Heidi, Nathan's wife."

"Can I speak to her, please?" Claire asked as innocently as she could. Surely, Peter's sister-in-law knew who he was. However stunned Claire was that Nathan actually did have a wife, she was still thankful. Heidi might be able to tell her where Peter was.

"Hello?" asked a mature voice on Petrelli side of the line. Claire stammered back.

"Oh! Hello. This is Mrs.Heidi Petrelli?"

"Yes," Heidi replied slowly. "Who is this?"

"My name is Claire Bennet. I'm a friend…well…I _know _Peter Petrelli, and I'm trying to find him, but he's unlisted in the phone book. I thought that you might be able to help me."

"Oh, I know Peter," Heidi told the girl nonchalantly. Then, her tone got serious. "He was in a coma a few days ago. My husband, Nathan, kept visiting the hospital. Then, Peter dissapeered and Nathan's been looking for him ever since."

If Claire hadn't already been sitting, she would have slumped in a nearby chair. All hope was now over. Peter's own family didn't know where he was.

"I'm sure Peter's still in town though. Nathan made sure he didn't leave on any planes," Heidi continued. "I'll give you the address of his apartment, if you'd like. You can go see if he's there. It's worth a shot, I guess."

"Thank you so much," Claire breathed in relief. "You don't know how much that would help me."

As Heidi was summoning another one of her servants to fetch Peter's exact address, she continued her conversation with Claire.

"So how do you know Peter? Are you his high school sweetheart or something?"

Claire's stomach tightened and she shook her head furiously, as if the older woman couild see her.

"No ma'mn. He saved me."

Heidi frowned. "Now you're not that girl from Texas, are you?"

"I'm from Texas, yes."

"And Peter saved you? Are you the cheerleader?"

"Yes, ma'mn."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and for a moment, Claire was scared that her only source of information had hung up. But Heidi breathed into the phone, alerting Claire to her presence once more.

"This can't be possible. Nathan stormed off to Texas two and a half weeks ago to go bail Peter out of jail. He said that Peter rushed to Odessa on some crazy vision that he had to save a cheerleader. I love Peter and all, but even I thought it was totally insane…and wait a minute. You're not testing me are you? A reporter trying to get a scoop on Nathan?"

"No, ma'mn of course not. And it's not insane," confirmed Claire. "If it weren't for Peter, I'd be dead."

Heidi smiled warmly. "I'm sure he'll be glad to see you again."

Nathan's wife gave Claire Peter's address, and said that if Claire needed anything else, she was welcome to call back. After thanking Heidi a million and a half times, Claire said farewell and pressed "End Call."

_585 Freemans Street, Apartment 132, in Lower East Side, Manhatten. _Claire read over this line several times on her Liberty Inn stationary. It was time to go pay Peter a visit.

**PETER AND CLAUDE**

Peter's "Nathan emotion" was replaced with shock, and he lost a handle on the hovering. His bottom collided with the seat again, not hard enough to cause any real pain. He looked over at Claude, beaming.

Claude rubbed the back of his neck. "If you can mold that monologue of yours into an actual emotion, you may just be getting somewhere, lad."

Peter was too elated to hear anything that had just come out of Claude's snarky mouth. There was only one thing that would divert his attention, and that was the pretty blonde girl strolling timidly around the corner…

**CLAIRE**

Fourty-five minutes later, Claire had taken a shower, gotten dressed, and grabbed a muffin from downstairs. She quickly asked the hotel staff how to get to Peter's apartment, and was delighted to find that it was only a few blocks away. With that, Claire waved goodbye and walked out of the revolving front doors.

_What did they say again?_ mused Claire. _Go up Foxtrot and turn at Murray? _

Claire followed the instructions that they gave her for a good ten minutes, before she saw a church at the end of the street. The bells rang out on the hour and gave her a little fright. The whole walk, she'd been looking over her shoulders and holding her arms protectivly. She'd never been out alone in a big city before. Maybe it was too many _Die Hards _or specials on the Today Show, but Claire feared that any second, a murderer would pop out in broad daylight, take her, and find _some _way to kill her.

Then again, with all that the poor girl had been through, she had rather passable reason for caution. _There are people that want what you have and will hurt you to get it, _her lying father had said. Seeing as he, nor Sandra or Lyle knew that she were she was off to, Claire had left a breif, vauge note saying that she was safe and would be back sometime soon.

Whenever Union Wells would give lectures on drop out rates, Claire always had blown them off, knowing full well that she'd never drop out of high school. But the law said that seventeen was the legal drop out age, and Claire was at that mark. As she walked down that New York street, fifteen hundred miles from home, she realized how petty high school was compared to her current situation. And to think: just one month ago, she'd been an ordinary teenage girl, only caring about her senior project and teddy bears.

She approached an intersection and started to take a left on Murray, but realized that she was mistaken. Murray was up ahead; this was the intersection of Foxtrot and Marigold. Shrugging, she busied herself by pressing the fake "Press here to make the 'Walk' sign come on" button on the light pole. It was one hundred percent bogus, she knew, but it was at least a distraction from the long wait.

"Claire!" she heard a man cry. Claire surreptitiously looked around, finding no one trying to get her attention. Instead of searching some more, she passed it off as coincidence.

"Claire Bennet! Claire!"

Now Claire was getting spooked. Her mind immediately jumped to the murderer at Homecoming, or perhaps, her father. Praying to God that the damn sign would turn to "Walk" already, she took one last glance around. Nothing.

When the little white neon man appeared on the sign across the street, Claire sighed in relief. She power-walked across the crosswalk, hearing someone call her name once more. For a split second, she thought she saw a chair move on it's own at the outdoor café to her right, but she was too bent on getting out of there.

"Claire!" yelled the voice again, desperatly. This time, it was much closer. Blowing off any embarressment or danger she might have been bringing to herself, Claire practically leaped to the next sidewalk and broke out into a sprint.

**PETER AND CLAUDE**

Peter bolted up in his chair. He gazed at the blonde girl on the corner and couldn't believe his eyes. _Is that…the cheerleader? Claire? What's she doing in New York?_

"What's gotten into you?" asked Claude, scratching at his bushy beard.

"Claire!" Peter shouted, waving his arms around. Claire took a peek around her, then went back to pushing the button on the lamp post.

"She actually thinks that button works?" Claude scoffed. "Those blonde jokes must be true…"

Peter shot a dirty look in Claude's direction, then continued calling for Claire as she crosssed the street. Other people were starting to look around as well, wondering who was calling for this girl.

"Of course," Peter breathed, mentally smacking himself. "She can't see me."

"Go on, then. Make yourself visible. You know how," shurgged Claude.

Peter shook his head, hastily blurting out, "That would take too long." Claire was almost at the other side of the street, about to walk away from Peter's radius.

The only way for Peter to become visible quick enough was for him to walk away from Claude. Thus, he did so, rushing over to Claire, still calling her name. But Claire was too freaked by now. By the time Peter had almost reached her, she began to run down the Foxtrot sidewalk.

"Wonderful," muttered Peter, as he began charging after her. He had always been a terrible runner, and Claire was an athlete, so it was a rather unfair contest. Though, somewhere in the back of Peter's mind, he remembered the bus from his dream. All the chips began falling into place and he realized what was going to happen. The epiphany keyed up his muscles, pushing him forward at full throttle.

"Claire! Watch out!" he shouted, as the cheerleader approached the next intersection. Claire whipped her head around in mid-dash, frowning. As she unconciously stumbled out into the middle of the street, she saw something that made her do a double-take. One second, there was nothing there, and the next, Peter was fizzling into visiblility. In mid-air.

He had roughly vaulted himself off of an innocent bystander's left shoulder, lunging to the end of the sidewalk. On any other occasion, Claire would have gaped at how cool the vision was to see a man leap up invisible and come into the perceptible continuum before hitting the ground again. This time, however, everything happened so fast, it was hard to even remember to breathe.

Claire heard a loud horn blaring in her face, and saw a huge bus coming right at her. Before she could so much as scream, forceful hands grabbed her by the waist and yanked her out of the way of jeopardy. Her head cracked against the concrete and darkness crept into the sides of her eyes. The last thing she remembered before everything went black was a soft, handsome voice gasping her name.


	3. Third Eye

The first things that Claire felt when she regained consciousness were two warm hands. One was cupping her face, and another was holding her wrist, whoever's thumb it was unconsciously caressing her skin.

She began to stir, and the hands hastily ripped themselves away, leaving Claire with a feeling of bareness. A young man's familiar voice said her name, and her eyelids began to flutter open. Groaning and clutching her side, she tried to lean up, and a strong hand on her back helped her sit upright.

"Hey…hey…are you okay?" Peter asked, peering at her pained expression. Claire roughly coughed a couple times, then managed to get her vision straight. There her hero was, his dark hair flopping into his concerned eyes. Claire's breath caught in her throat at the sight. She'd forgotten that she'd seen him…had he been invisible, or was that just a concussion coming on?

"Fine," she gasped out, already feeling her various cuts and bruises healing. Claire glanced up and saw that Peter had a gash steadily healing on his own forehead. "What's with..this…you..I think I saw you…" she continued, shaking.

"C'mon," he ignored her questions, rather sternly. "We need to go somewhere else to talk."

People were starting to rubberneck; staring at them and making Claire feel even more like a freak show. She nodded and Peter pulled her to her feet. He gastrulated for her to follow him, and he briskly walked across the street and onto the sidewalk. Claire remained at his heels.

They reached the intersection where Claire had first heard her name called (obviously by him, she noted), and right before her eyes, Peter vanished into thin air.

"Peter!" she cried, whipping her head around and searching for her lost savior. Two fingers brushed her elbow. She turned back around and saw Peter standing there, looking slightly sheepish.

"Oh, I forgot about…" he muttered. "Just…come here."

He took a firmer grip on her arm, and directed her to the café table that he had Claude had occupied. Claude was reclining in his wire chair, looking surly with Peter.

"What did I tell you about getting a hold on your distractions?" he reproached. Peter blew off Claude's comment and pulled out a chair for Claire. Even though she sat down comfortably, Peter did not let go of her forearm.

"Sorry if this makes you feel weird," he explained, his eye line going to their awkward positioning, "but I have to be touching you so you can see us." He expected a puzzled expression to come on Claire's face, but surprisingly, she was rather calm. Then again, this was the girl that could grow back her limbs. Nothing would shock her anymore.

"So you're invisible? How are you doing that?" she asked quizzically. Peter exposited about his ability to absorb powers, and his mentor, Claude.

"My dreams predict the future too," he continued ("He thinks," Claude retorted), "and I saw you, here. Today. I knew something was gonna happen to you."

"You knew you had to save me," Claire blushed, with a breezy giggle. "Again."

This prompted a self-conscious smile from Peter. "You saved me too. Again," he added, making Claire smile more, though a tad perplexed. "A few days ago, I got killed." He shot a glare at Claude. "Claude threw me off a 30-story building."

Claire's eyes went as wide as saucers. "You fell off another building? And lived? How?"

Peter shrugged, honestly clueless. "I used your power by remembering you. So, thanks," he said, briefly grinning at her out of the corner of his mouth. Claude interrupted again, waving his arm around.

"Wait just a wee second. So this is that cheerleader, that 'sweet girl with the sad smile', eh?" He asked, inspecting Claire. At his comment, Claire's face began to pink, but her humiliation did not match Peter's. Peter was now officially convinced that Claude was making an effort to get him arrested. She was just a kid for crying out loud, and Claude had made it seem like…

Suddenly, he became a lot more aware of Claire's wrist encircled in his hand. He released his grasp, touching her just enough so that she could see him. Coughing awkwardly, he grasped at straws, trying to change the subject.

"Er…why are you in New York, Claire?" he asked, trying to be nonchalant. "It's not exactly in the same zip code as Odessa."

"I'm looking for my father," Claire supplied quietly. "My bio-father. I'm…adopted and all, so I started looking for my birth parents. I wondered if they were like me. I did find my mom," she added cheerfully. "She told me that my dad had said he'd come to New York. His name was Lewis Rushton, but he's not in the phone book."

Why she was telling him all of these secrets, spilling her heart out, Claire didn't know. Peter was barely more then a stranger, and even though he had been kind in saving her, she still had no idea about his past. What if Peter worked for her father, just a pawn that Gregory Bennet had used to "protect" his little girl at homecoming? It wouldn't surprise her one bit. Peter could have been planted there in front of that trophy case lest Claire decided to sneak out…then she'd still be safe. How could she explain her adoptive father's proximity to the stadium? And the fact that he had already called the police? So many questions flooded her tired mind, clenching her heart at the thought that the caring, handsome individual touching her arm could be a double agent.

After all, everything else had been taken from her.

A shattering sound from the other side of the table broke her concentration. The British man, Claude, had accidentally hit the bottom of his ale bottle on the side of the table. He stood up, cursing, and trying to wipe off the booze that was dripping from his clothes.

Peter reached a hand across the table and tapped to get Claude's attention.

"Shhh!" he hissed. "Sit down!"

Café customers around them had gone silent and were murmuring about the shards of broken glass, voices, and earsplitting noise that had just come out of thin air. Claude glared down at his pupil.

"I thought I was supposed to be the one scolding the disobedient puppy," quipped Claude and Peter rolled his eyes. Instead of sitting back down, though, Claude brushed off his coat a little more and began to walk away.

"I'll see you later, Lassie," he said to Peter, clapping the young man on the shoulder before continuing off. Peter stood up indignantly, and followed after, forgetting about Claire and what couldn't be seen with her plain eyes.

"Peter?" she quivered, staring at the spot to which he had just evaporated. A few seconds later, the chair beside her moved back and Peter came to again, his elbows resting on the table tiredly.

"Where are you staying?" he asked after a moment.

"The Liberty Inn. It's this hotel up the road," she replied, half of her knowing what the next thing Peter was about to say.

"It's dangerous for you to be here alone. That murderer- he's still out there, and if he could find you before, he can do it again."

Claire looked away, uncomfortable. "I know. But I couldn't stay at home anymore. My adoptive father, he-." Here, she paused, biting her lip. Peter leaned forward a tad, expecting her to continue, but Claire remembered what she told herself about Peter's possible motives. For once, she held her tongue before she could go on.

"Never mind," she announced. "Things weren't right there, that's all."

Peter was frowning at her abrupt turn, but he did not pressure her into any further questioning. Instead, he persisted with his original topic.

"You're welcome to crash at my apartment…it's really the only place I can think of. I haven't really been in contact with anyone lately, except Claude. And you can't stay with him, obviously…" He trailed off, hoping he wasn't being too forward and, he feared, creepy. Peter was a twenty six year old man that went racing to Texas to find a minor. A cheerleader, no less. Anyone with a freak sense at all would hold up the "Pervert" sign.

But these were desperate times, and Claire luckily seemed to trust that he wasn't like that at all.

"Sure…" Claire replied quietly. "I guess it couldn't hurt to be near someone I know."

Peter found himself beaming. "Great. Let's go get your stuff."

Claire didn't know what to expect of Peter's apartment. She'd never been inside a big city apartment anyway, but she had anticipated walking into Jerry Seinfeld's homely pad. Or something. In reality, Peter Petrelli's apartment was huge, but dreary, and had a blue tint to everything. Claire saw it as a sort of shadowed beauty. Still, it didn't fit Peter, who she thought would have had a colorful, cheery loft.

An hour prior, they'd been at the Liberty Inn guest services counter, Peter footing the bill for all Claire's expenses. She'd protested, but he said that after all the trouble she'd been through, it was the least he could do. Claire softly laughed, wondering if saving her life (twice), taking her in to his apartment, and spending $75 on a hotel bill was the least Peter could do, what was the most he was capable of?

Unfortunately, the cute bellhop who had flirted with Claire, Frankie, waltzed into the lobby just as Peter was picking up Claire's luggage. Claire caught Frankie's eye and waved, but Frankie just stared at Peter, sniffing slightly. Claire glanced from her hero to her acquaintance, Frankie's assumption sinking in. Claire's eyes were insecurely downcast, as she wasn't going to waste breath explaining the whole situation to some bellhop. Off a nudge in her arm by Peter, who was making a motion to follow him, Claire's mellowly content resolve returned, and she shouldered her way through the hotel's revolving door.

At the present time, they were both sitting on the roof of the apartment building. It was the last stop on Peter's "tour" and Claire had insisted that they stay up there for a little while, just enjoying the view. Peter smiled, internally acknowledging that Claire didn't get to see skyscraper sunsets everyday.

The silence between them was oddly serene, yet Peter found the moment opportune to actually learn something about his damsel in distress. Before, he hadn't even thought about her favorite food, her grades, her friends, or heck, even her age! But being her hero wasn't enough…he was still a stranger, and she to him. Getting on a friendly basis wouldn't hurt.

"What's your favorite color, Claire?" he asked innocently. Claire let out a light giggle.

"Why do you ask?"

Peter shrugged. "We're going to be living together. I figured that we should get to know each other a bit, at the very least."

Claire was still chuckling. "Yellow. I like yellow."

Peter arched an eyebrow, interested. "Really? I've never met anyone who liked yellow."

"Yeah, most people like blue or black," agreed Claire softly.

"Me," admitted Peter. "Almost all my clothes are those colors."

Claire noted his current navy blue dress polo, black trench coat, and jeans as proof. Another aspect of Peter that Claire had not expected, along with his apartment. When she'd first met him, he'd been wearing light colors; blue and tan. Now, his wardrobe had darkened in contrast.

"How did you find out about your powers?" asked Claire, delving into the more personal territory.

Peter released a heavy sigh. "That's a long story," he chuckled. "It all started when I jumped off this building because I thought I could fly."

"Another building? Wait…so what is that, three, now? How'd you survive that time?"

Peter was avoiding her eyes sheepishly, and Claire decided to let the mocking go.

"Yeah, that was my first jump. I lived because my brother caught me." Peter didn't tell her about Nathan's ability to fly, but rather, told her about how he had painted the future, and eventually came to realize that he could absorb the powers of others. Claire felt herself growing to trust him as he spieled on, telling her rather secretive things about himself. If he was a plant of her father's, he was doing a damn fine job at not showing it.

"So right now I can fly, paint the future, turn invisible, regenerate," Peter counted the powers off on his fingers, soon having to switch to two hands, "read minds, my dreams predict the future, and I can probably bend time and space, since I was around Hiro Nakamura from the future. He was from the future, but I was still around him, so I guess that still counts." Peter lowered his hands and finished his list with a shrug and a gaze out onto the horizon. Claire was gaping at him.

"How…how can you do all that? That's amazing!" She exclaimed, astounded. Peter looked back at her, clueless.

"I don't know how. It just…happened. Like your powers. Which…how did you discover you had yours?"

"I threw myself off a building," Claire grinned, prompting a smile in return from Peter.

"Is that really what happened?"

"Sort of. I did throw myself off a 100 foot high oil rig, but that was my sixth test."

Peter's eyes widened. "Sixth? What were tests one through five?"

"I got hit by a car…I stabbed myself in the chest..," Claire went on, starting a long list of her own. Except this list made her feel more foolish and juvenile then Peter's count of extraordinary powers. "I stuck a steel pole in my neck…but the way I found out I could heal myself was when I cut my hand on this glass cabinet about six months ago."

"Six months ago? That's when I had my first predictive dream."

Claire didn't reply, but smiled tightly, mostly lacking something to say.

"I've also burned my hands on a hot pan…this quarterback hit me and my neck broke…I stuck my hand down a garbage disposal…" Here, she stopped, looking at Peter seriously. "I know you're indestructible too, but never, ever do that one. It actually does kind of hurt, and your hand looks so gross afterward."

"Okay," Peter promised, not moving a hair. He just stared at her, openmouthed and aghast at all the terrible things she had done to herself. They could have been lethal…but who was he to judge? He could have died himself from his not-so-flight-of-fancy.

"I did do something useful once," she assured him, finding herself in an unusually talkative mood. "I saved this guy from a burning train car."

She'd never told anyone that before, save for Jackie, before she was murdered. But it didn't matter anymore. She was sitting on a roof, fifteen hundred miles away from anyone at that high school that could call her a freak. Not expecting much out of the comment, she just shrugged and looked out the oncoming sunset. But Peter was gazing at her intensely.

"That was you? You did that, not that Jackie Wilcox girl?"

Claire was stunned at how he could know that, then she recalled their hallway conversation.

"Oh yeah, you asked me about that, didn't you? That seems like a really long time ago."

"Just three weeks. Not even that long." Peter concurred. "Of course, it doesn't feel like so long ago to me. I was in a coma for most of it."

Claire reeled back. "A coma? How?"

Peter shook his head. "I'm still not quite sure. But I had a predictive dream…"

For once in their conversation, he paused, not spilling his heart out like he had before. A shadow was cast over his eyes, and Claire noticed. She scooted a bit closer to him on the roof ledge and examined his lost expression.

"What..uh…," Claire swallowed. "What happened in it?"

Peter moistened his lips. "I…blow up New York," he choked.

Claire would have laughed at the ridiculousness of this statement, had it not been for Peter's super somber face at that moment. Claire sniffed, erasing any humor from her mind, and she tentatively reached out and touched his arm.

"Hey," she whispered. "If it makes you feel better, I've had some sucky things happen in my life too these past few weeks."

"You're exploding in a nuclear blast and killing three million people too?"

Claire smiled. "No, I admit. Your life does suck more." Surprisingly, Peter smiled back, though his pained eyes were still grim as they looked at her while she talked.

"My adoptive father's lied to me my whole life, and because of him, my mom's dying. My real mom, not…my bio-mom," Claire muttered, scowling slightly. "I watched my former best friend die in front of me at Homecoming. My true best friend had his memories erased and he barely knew who I was. I got killed and woke up on an autopsy table, all cut open, twenty miles from home."

She debated whether she should tell him about Brody trying to rape her. It was something she'd only told her father and Zach, and Zach didn't remember, and her father was a lying bastard. Peter deserved to know more than Bennet ever did.

Claire was looking at the floor, more angry then sad. She'd gotten over being upset for the things she was being put through. She'd learned to rise up and figure out why this was happening.

"It doesn't matter," Claire said, looking at him square in the eyes. "I've grown so much over this past month…It's been so hard, it almost cruel. It is cruel. But now I know it's not just me. The world is harsh to everyone, especially you. Other people like us. All the things I thought were so important don't matter anymore. One month ago all I cared about was making Brody Mitchum think that I was pretty. Two weeks after that all I cared about was getting back at Brody Mitchum because he tried to rape me. One week after that the only…thing…I cared about…was that I was homecoming queen, and my dad was being so mean because he wouldn't let me go to the game. Like it was the worst thing he could ever do to me."

"You…" murmured Peter, gazing at the small blonde girl beside him in absolute awe. "That was incredible."

Claire smiled at him sadly, and it finally made sense to Peter why her bright smile was so tainted. He'd no idea all the things that she'd had to face…and how maturely she was taking them all in and handling it. She had a better grip on things then he did, for Christ's sake.

"I wish you were the one exploding," he said, and was quick to explain off her offended look. "You'd be able to control it. You'd be able to stop it."

"Why can't you stop it?" Claire asked fiercely. "You saved me, why can't you save New York?"

"It's…different. I was saving you from someone else, not myself."

"It's harder to save people from others," said Claire wisely. "All you have to do to stop yourself is to take a deep breath and…stop."

Peter chuckled bitterly. "It's not that easy, trust me. The last time Claude said that the only thing I had to do was breathe, I almost got arrested for petty theft."

Claire mentally thought up an analogy to self-control when it came to cupcakes, but she didn't dare mention it aloud. Yet, Peter's ears perked up and he looked at her, smiling crookedly just like she remembered.

"What did you just say about cupcakes?"

Claire's face reddened. "Nothing," she said honestly.

"Were you thinking about it, or something? Then I must have read your mind. Sorry, I can't really control when stuff like that happens."

"Its fine," Claire said hurriedly, only daring to take a peak up at him. What she found made it hard for her to look away.

He was staring at her, but not pervertedly, or like a turncoat. His gaze was innocent, full of understanding, and instead of letting his eye line drop to her curves like most guys she was around, his look stayed on her face. Or more specifically, her eyes. Claire looked deeply into his own eyes, trying to get a hold on what Peter Petrelli was all about. She could tell he was sweet, selfless and kind, but the darkness that was stalking him had already altered his persona. A broken record played behind his warm eyes, slowly frosting over his normally uplifting resolve.

After a few seconds, the gawkiness set in and Peter cleared his throat purposefully.

"I…I'm gonna go start on dinner," he stuttered, feigning casualness. "Come downstairs in the next twenty minutes, okay?"

Claire silently nodded and watched him go, the hem of his black trench coat rippling behind Peter like a smoky evil sneaking up to devour him. Claire shuddered and heard the door slam.

The flaming orb in the sky was almost below the horizon and she hoped that it wouldn't be one of the last times the world would get to see a sunset.


	4. Simmer

Title: The Dark Sentinel

Rating: PG13

Genre: Drama/Romance/Paingst later on

Disclaimer: No own-o nada

Summary: Peter tries to fight his impending darkness, while the days counting down to his combustion dissolve. He's only got one solace: the cheerleader.

A/N: God, this chapter was a BEAR to write, but I tried to keep it kinda lengthy. Even though this story is Post-Distractions (in a non-cesty world), I DID incorporate info from Company Man. But those flashbacks? Not in my canon, or else Claude and Claire would know each other, and plot would be screwed. So yes, this canon is really really screwed up, but please bear with me.

Also, there is the broom scene much like in "Unexpected" but I loved that scene so much (and in this stories canon, that scene never happened anyway), I decided to incorporate something like that. It seems like something that Claude would train Peter with often anyway, so, shrug.

Previous Parts Here:

**Chapter Three**

"**Simmer"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Lower East Side, Manhattan. **

Peter Petrelli had to admit that he didn't think ahead with the whole "Save the cheerleader, save the world," thing. He just went with it, hopping on a plane to Odessa, dying, coming back to life, and spending a night in jail. But he _had _saved the cheerleader. Still, after all of that, he'd never given a stray thought to what the cheerleader herself would think about that. In his consciousness, he always assumed that he'd do the deed, go back to New York and try to prevent the bomb. End of story.

Yet, replaying that train of thought, Peter saw something strange in the would-be-plan. If he left his problems in Texas, would that mean that he'd never see Claire again? Of _course _they had to meet again at some point. They _had _to. He saved her life, for God's sake, and if she was so important to saving the world, she'd have to come to New York. Also, though he'd never say it aloud for risk of Claude's mocking and Nathan's nagging, Peter felt a connection with Claire beyond the hero/damsel. He didn't intend it at all to be sappy, but knowing the way that people misunderstood him, his feelings would probably be grossly twisted and blown out of proportion.

Downstairs, Peter leaned against his kitchen counter, waiting for some water to boil. Claire was still up on the rooftop, and Peter checked his watch, making sure she was in her 20 minute curfew. Though she was naturally starting to grow on him, Peter internally confessed that having her around would be a trouble. He couldn't even keep a cat alive, let alone a lonely teenage girl who was trying her best not to break. And where was she supposed to sleep? Peter wouldn't hesitate to let her stay in his bed, but that was a slightly awkward position to put her in, especially since the bedroom door was see-through.

The water on the stove was taking forever to boil, making Peter impatient.

"Can't wait till I meet someone who can heat things up really fast," he grumbled, consenting with an imaginary antagonist to at least start getting his other supplies out.

He reached for his fridge door, but before he could open it and take out the tomatoes, something on the freezer caught his eye. Peter sucked in air between gritted teeth, gently lifting the magnet off the photograph and holding it delicately between his fingers.

It was Charles Deveaux, back in his healthy state, with his daughter Simone kneeled grinning beside him. Peter's heart wrenched at the sight of the woman, and he crossly came close to opening his trash can and throwing the thing away. But Charles…

Peter closed his trash can lid, sighing and still continuing his study of the picture. _Poor Charles…I wasn't even there when he died…_Peter thought miserably. _He believed. Simone forces herself to but Charles…he _always _believed._

He considered reluctantly putting the pic back on his fridge, but that's what the Peter Petrelli of three weeks ago would have done. He could have let Simone stare him down with her exotic eyes, a constant reminder of how Peter loved too easily. _Love is overrated_; his mother had told him at the police station. Peter snorted audibly. _I really should start listening to her. _

The newer, stronger Peter opted for a different solution then to let this fickle, beautiful, but indecisive woman rule him like a puppy. After all, that's what he was to her. A cute little boy toy to distract her from her _man_. He could almost hear her saying "Let the grown ups deal with their problems, Peter. You just go and try to find a nice girl."

His mouth a grim slash, Peter folded the photo and ripped it right down the middle, Charles on one part and Simone on the other. Re-opening his trash can, he threw one of them inside.

"Have you ever met a man named Ted Sprague?"

Claire startled him, approaching the kitchen doorway. Peter reeled, and then realized that it was only his friend. Or was it acquaintance? _Were_ they even friends?

With a swift movement, Peter casually closed his trash can and put Charles's photo back on with a magnet. He asked her to repeat her question and she did, eyeing the now violently boiling pot of water on the stove.

Peter went to turn the heat down. "No, who is he?" 

"An exploding man. Kinda," Claire replied hesitantly. Peter's eyes shot up into his bangs.

"He…you…you've seen this before?" he stuttered. Claire nodded.

"He came to my house and took my family hostage because my dad kidnapped him. Matt Parkman was with him, and he could-,"

"Read minds," recalled Peter, not exactly sure how he could remember the man's name. "You say your dad took them?"

"Yeah. He apparently kidnaps a lot of…people like us."

"A man with horn rimmed glasses and a creepy Euro dude…," Peter murmured, again recalling something with amazing accuracy. "That's what Nathan said. I didn't believe him when he told me…"

Claire frowned. "Nathan? Your brother?"

Peter arched an eyebrow. "How do you know him?"

Claire felt her face burn. She didn't want to admit that she had been looking for him to help her.

"Campaign commercials," she replied quickly. "A _lot _of them."

This prompted Peter to chuckle. "Oh, right. Nathan said he got kidnapped by a man with horn rimmed glasses…and I met your dad, he had them too. It must have been him."

"What can Nathan do?" asked Claire, excited to learn of yet _another _person like her.

Peter smiled a bit sadly. "He can fly. And what about Ted?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Claire, a flash of fear in her eyes. "He could make orbs of nuclear energy or something with his hands. But he got shot and his powers started going out of control. He started exploding."

"What happened to him? How'd you stop it?" Peter shot out frantically.

"He's alive, I think. I tranquilized him; I was the only one who could get close enough, but I was burned all over from it."

Peter could have sung the hallelujah chorus. "That's it! That's what I'll do to stop exploding! Just use a tranquilizer!"

"Where are we gonna get one?" asked Claire, not meaning to rain on his parade. Peter's face fell.

"I have a nurse's license. I _may _be able to get morphine, but I'm between jobs."

"You're a nurse?" Claire said, a little surprised. Peter nodded a bit sheepishly, making Claire add "That's really sweet."

"I _was _a nurse," confessed Peter. "Like I said, I kinda quit my job to go save the world. And...you."

As if Peter hadn't already sacrificed himself enough for her, now Claire knew that he'd also thrown away his career. Now, she was pinkining in the cheeks.

"But that's just a small obstacle," said Peter, chinning up. "Now that we know what to do, I can finally relax.

"Ted…took a long time to explode," Claire said quietly. "Actually, he didn't really explode. He more like…pulsed energy. How does it happen in your dreams?"

Peter blinked, his heart sinking. "I look down at my hands and they're glowing red. Two seconds later, I scream, and explode with a huge blast that blows the city to dust."

"That's much worse," Claire told him softly. "You're more powerful than he is. I don't think a shot would do it, and besides. If you blow up right away, when would we have time to give you one?"

Peter leaned against his countertop, a thoughtful forefinger stroking his lips.

"I don't wanna die," he whispered hoarsely. Claire hadn't expected him to be so blunt, so…afraid. Her hero was cracking, and it broke her own heart to see him in such dread. She'd noticed it ever since their reunion only hours ago. When he'd saved her the first time, his eyes shone with confidence, a good heart, and illumination. Now, the burden was starting to take its toll. Who was forcing him to do all this? Forcing an innocent man to be haplessly responsible for such chaos?

"You weren't afraid when you thr-," Claire began to point out, but Peter interrupted her sharply.

"That was different," he said, still staring at the simmering water on the stove. "It all happened so fast. I _knew _it was gonna happen but I didn't _feel _it. Same when I tried to fly. I didn't even think about the fact that I could break every bone in my body. Somehow, I just _knew _it all turn out okay but now…God, I can _feel _it. It's fate. I never really realized before now but…I'm going to die, taking three million people with me."

"Don't talk like that," Claire chided him gently. Peter didn't look convinced, so Claire reached out and squeezed his arm for emphasis. He did not look horror-struck by the gesture, so Claire took that as a good sign.

"And I know you don't really believe that," continued Claire matter-of-factly. "If you honestly thought that this was hopeless, you would have ditched Claude days ago."

Peter smirked kindly. "I should have known it wouldn't be so easy. It's _never _that easy." Claire smiled back.

"Yeah. The world has a funny way of screwing us over." She released her grasp on his arm and settled her hands on her hips. "Now," she announced. "what about dinner?" She cocked her head towards to stove.

"Okay, okay, I'll get to work" Peter grinned, patting her lightly on the cheek before walking over to the pot. Claire walked into the living room, and when she was sure that Peter could not see her, she brought her fingers to the spot on her face where he had left his touch.

_Don't even think about it_¸ her consciousness growled, arms figuratively crossed sternly. _He's like, thirty. Don't even…no…just…no…._

Once she was free of any unwanted thoughts (she had been careful to keep them in check around an admitted mind-reader), Claire headed to the master bedroom to start unpacking.

**Peter, Claire, and Claude Raines**

**The Deveaux Building**

"You're weak, boy! Get up!"

"I'm trying!"

"Get _up!_"

THWACK! Peter groaned at the contact of the broom handle against his shoulder blades. Claire stood ten feet away from the duel, grimacing and turning her head away.

Peter stumbled to his feet again, unarmed, and trying to duck the impending blows from Claude's makeshift "training device." _More like a weapon to me_, he grumbled internally.

Managing to grab the end of the stick before it jabbed into his stomach, Peter mustered all of his strength to push it back, sending Claude careening into the pigeon cage. Peter took the half-second of safety to glance at Claire, who was currently wincing and had her hand over her mouth. She could only see Peter, who was trying his best to control his visibility, but even now and then, she could see a flash of the broomstick coming down.

Only then did it hit Peter that his intended glance at Claire had actually turned into staring, and he paid for it with Claude's stick whacking him painfully on the back of the head.

Peter was humiliated by the whole experience. He was supposed to be the hero, for God's sake, and here he was, getting whacked into a pulp so heinously his blonde "Bonnie lass," as Claude called her, couldn't even bare to watch.

"Ow! Will you give me a second to recover at all?"

"You're invincible!" snapped Claude swinging the broom around wildly striking Peter everywhere possible. "You don't _need _time!"

"I don't….know…how to…fight!" Peter gritted out, successfully blocking none of the blows heading towards him. Claude rolled his eyes and hit Peter square in the chest knocking the wind out of him and making the younger man collapse to the ground. Claire gasped and considered rushing over to him, but she gave Claude the benefit of the doubt. Peter seemed to be really hurt, and it wasn't something that cellular regeneration could instantly heal. Surely Claude couldn't be cruel enough to continue.

"You don't _need to_!" yelled Claude. "Use your powers! You think I'm tryin' to teach you karate? Kung fu? No, this is all about getting a control on your abilities, saving yourself!"

Peter didn't respond; too busy clutching his heart, gasping for air. Claire didn't need to see the broom handle to know what was going to happen next. So much for Claude's sympathy.

"No!" Claire cried, rushing forward. Peter was unaware of the impending danger, and Claire diving in front of his keeled over form. She had planned on stopping the club with her hands, but she had no idea where it was, and it ended up striking her across the side of the face.

Claire fell to the ground, right next to Peter, a huge red mark across her cheek. It hadn't hurt much, but the force from it shook her from head to toe. Peter had finally regained some sort of breath, opening his eyes at the sound of a girl's yell from above him.

"Claire!" he gasped, spotting her bruised face. He threw a horrified look at Claude, who was looking shocked himself, and had amended to holding the stick peacefully around the middle.

"You son of a bitch!" Peter barked, trying to stand and punch at the same time. Luckily, his gawky method didn't need to work, as Claude abruptly went flying backwards into the far wall, an unseen energy throwing him back.

A couple throaty, stunned noises came from Peter's mouth as he sat, wide-eyed, reeling from what had just happened.

"Ohmygod," he blurted out, coming to his senses. He clambered up, rushing over to his fallen mentor, with Claire right behind him, totally confused.

Claude sat up, rubbing his head gingerly. Peter clutched him by the shoulders, doing a quick vitals check.

"Are you feeling okay?" he hastily asked. Claude looked up, bursting into a grin.

"That was bloody fantastic!" he exclaimed, getting up. Peter looked like he'd just been smacked again with that broomstick.

"_What_?!"

"Telekinesis! Brilliant! Amazing ability, you can do anything with it!"

"You think…you think that _I _just caused that?" Peter asked skeptically. He spotted a bewildered Claire next to him, and touched her lightly on the arm so she could see Claude. Who was, incidentally, going back into his normal snarky self.

"Well who else do you think did it, little miss mini-Rose over there?" Claire's brow creased, even though she had no idea what Claude was referencing too. On the other hand, Peter looked exhilarated.

"That killer at Homecoming," Claire spoke. "He cut open Jackie's head without touching her."

"It must have been him," murmured Peter. "He came back from the dead too, and he scaled those steps within a second." He turned to Claude. "You think I can do all that?"

"Focus," shrugged Claude. "And," he looked at Claire. "I do apologize for hitting you, but if you hadn't tried to be all _noble_.,,"

He continued rambling, but Claire opted for listening to Peter instead.

"You didn't have to do that but…thank you," he said sincerely. Claire flushed, cursing herself again for being such an emotional teenage girl.

"No pr-," she began, but decided that sounded too…_her _age. "Your welcome," she closed, smiling a bit in spite of herself.

"You should probably go downstairs, though," Peter said more loudly, so Claude could hear. "I don't want you seeing this."

"You can stay," countered Claude. "I think the lad's just too mortified to get his arse kicked in front of his damsel." Peter glared at him.

"No," lied Peter. He directed his next line at Claire. "You're distracting me. And Claude? Will you _stop _calling me 'lad' all the time?"

Claire's stomach squirmed a bit. Distracting him how?

"Even better," argued Claude. "Keep her up here. You need to fight your distractions. Remember what I told you about em'?"

"Distractions are your weakness, mate," mocked Peter, making Claire giggle with his faux British accent.

"Exactly. And there's no better diversion then a pretty girl."

"You know that's not the kind of distraction I meant, Claude," sighed Peter, getting exhausted with all of the bum's suggestive remarks about his status quo with Claire. The girl, on the other hand, felt slightly crestfallen.

"I simply meant that-," Peter started to explain, but a loud creak across from them sent them all into silence. Simone Deveaux was stepping out onto the rooftop, fingering a little golden key thoughtfully.

Peter's light caress on Claire turned into a tight clutch on her arm. He quietly pulled her up and joined her hand with Claude's. Both of them looked at him, perplexed, but he simply made the "one second" finger and brushed past Claire, over to Simone.

Frustration and hurt clouded the art dealer's pretty eyes and Peter's heart tightened. He held a grudge against her, true, but in that moment he understood that a part of him did still love her. He hadn't seen her properly in three weeks, unable to fully appreciate her. The last time he saw her, he left her with a fiery kiss and a promise that he'd return. He had lied.

Peter stood inches in front of her, totally undetectable. He found his fingers reaching out towards her face, about to cradle her teary skin. Though Simone was oblivious to anyone, Claire could see the whole thing, never feeling younger.

"His girl," confirmed Claude in a low whisper. "Right little tart, that one."

Claire was biting her bottom lip involuntarily, a streak of selfish satisfaction beaming through her when she saw what happened next.

Simone held up the key, staring at it grimly. "Oh, Isaac," she breathed, clutching the key and pocketing at it, as she walked to the left balcony side. Peter was left wordless and dumb, his arm still extended with parted fingers. He recovered smoothly, using his outstretched arm to reach up and run his fingers through his sleek black hair, obviously dismayed. He made his way back to the stairwell without looking at Claude or Claire.

Claire knew it was selfish and hurtful to be _glad _about the woman's declaration of another man's name, one that clearly made Peter's heart ache, but she couldn't help it. At the end of the day, she was still a female, and women were ruthless by raw nature when it came to men.

But who was she kidding? Claire may have found Peter handsome, endearing, and utterly amazing, but she _still _had common sense. Her feelings for him, if she could call them that, were just like a celebrity crush; not based on much, and without a snowball's chance in hell of having those feelings returned. When interacting with him, she tried her best not to let those thoughts get in the way of how they got along; awkwardness would ruin any garbled friendship they'd established. Yet, every time he'd looked at her it had gotten harder and harder to control her emotions.

"C'mon," whispered Claude, pulling Claire gently along (probably to stress his prior apology). Simone was left alone on the rooftop.

When the three of them were in the stairwell, Claude confronted Peter, roughly grabbing his shoulder and forcing the young man to face him.

"Now what the hell was that?" he called, getting straight to the point. Peter cast a sharp look towards the British man, totally ignoring Claire, before turning around and continuing his way down the stairs.

"You can't run from this forever, friend. You need to move on."

For once, there was no sarcasm in Claude's voice. He sounded genuinely concerned. Peter halted in his tracks and turned menacingly around again.

"She said…'Isaac'. Isaac. A heroin addicted comic artist. Why. just…_why_..?" Peter couldn't form a comprehensive sentence, and he rubbed his forehead with his palm.

Claire was feeling increasingly guiltier about her joviality at the expense of Peter's rejection. His misery was contagious, and she looked down in shame.

"I told you, she's fickle," grunted Claude. "Women suck too. You'd best just be a hermit or gay. Pick one."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm not gay, and I'm not you. I'm a dead man walking, so it really doesn't matter, does it?"

Claire frowned. "Peter…" she began.

"Negativity," taunted Claude. "Look how that eats at you, Peter. You want you go boom, do you?"

"I know, I know, " admitted Peter. "It's just..too much sometimes. _You _try being a human time bomb."

"It's elementary," shrugged Claude. "Step one:Stop whining. Step Two: Get some meat and potatoes, and step infinity: listen to me. It's really not that hard, mate."

Peter flinched at Claude's choice of symbolism. "I've already got step two covered, thanks," he glowered. Claire felt out of place at the certain exchange of more masculine banter that was unfolding before her.

"Let's go," she coughed, changing the subject. "That woman-,"

"Simone," clarified Peter. _That's either a soap opera or a_ _stripper name_, thought Claire, settling on being angrier at Simone for hurting poor Peter then to be cheerful that a man she'd never had a chance with was now 'available.'

"Simone will be coming down the staircase soon. We should at least get to a more open spot."

"Good idea," agreed Peter. He delicately took hold of Claire's fingers, leading her down the flight of steps and literally taking her off Claude's hand.

Claude shook his head, knowing that if his assumptions weren't correct _then_, they would be soon.


	5. Consequence and Lasagna

**Chapter Four**

"**Consequence and Lasagna"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Lower East Side, Manhattan. **

Tension had grown thick between Peter and Claire ever since the Deveaux Building incident and they barely spoke to each other for the rest of the day. They weren't angry at each other by any means, but there was a sudden, unspoken awkwardness that sent them both into vows of silence.

Empathetic Peter noticed it right away, and he grappled with the right moment to come face to face with the issue. After all, it was _he _who had been coarse and _he _who had ditched Claude and Claire on the roof. It was also he who was trudging way through his awful, scattered fling with Simone. But what did it really matter? They had bigger problems at hand, and there was simply no time to be petty.

"I'm sorry," Peter announced, as Claire was leaning against the master bathroom doorway in her pajamas, a toothbrush in her hand. She seemed startled by the apology, and frowned.

"What for?" she asked casually, rinsing off her toothbrush, turning off the bathroom light, and lounging comfortably on Peter's bed.

Peter crossed his arms. "I was really rude, earlier today. I want to put it past us. This," he gestured to the broad space around him, "is weird. I…miss the company."

He awaited her reaction, a smile twitching one of the corners of his mouth. Claire burst into a grin.

"It's okay. You just had a guy-moment," she shrugged, giggling slightly. Peter scoffed.

"A _guy-moment_, excuse me?"

Peter didn't even realize that he was approaching her, plopping himself down on the foot of his mattress. Claire was still grinning, now sitting Indian-style three feet across from him.

"Yeah, like when you pretend to be all rough and moody when you get upset. It's the typical male defense mechanism," Claire explained simply. Peter gaped.

"Who taught you that?"

"I took Psychology 101 in junior year," she replied innocently.

Smirking, Peter nodded. "And what would the_ female_ defense mechanism be?"

"Bitch till the cows come home and tear out some hair along the way."

Claire heard Peter truly laugh for the first time. It was kind of throaty and a little old for him. Not exactly the sound you'd expect from a….how old was he again? Couldn't be a day over thirty, and he looked much younger…

"I think your teacher might have been onto something," he replied, still chuckling.

"Did you ever take psychology in high school?" Claire asked, trying to find some round-about way to get his age out of him without actually _asking_ him.

"No, I took it in college though. It was a required course," Peter cringed. "Trust me; it's not nearly as fun as you get in the good ol' days."

Claire snorted. "You call high school the 'good ol' days?' It couldn't have been _that _long ago."

Peter reflected back. "Class of 98', so I guess you're right. It doesn't seem like so long ago…"

Doing the calculations quickly in her head, Claire figured out that he was twenty-six years old. She absently mused that he wasn't much older than her, not even a decade, and would have thought more had she reminded herself that Peter _could _read minds after all.

"I bet high school's not that bad for you, being a popular little cheerleader," Peter smiled tightly, as if it pained him to say that. Claire tutted.

"You watch too much TV, Peter. High school actually sucks _more _for the popular crowd. And besides, I wasn't _that _popular, my best friend was. I've only been a cheerleader for seven months."

Peter was a tad amazed. It had been eight years and he'd almost forgotten what high school was _really _like.

"I wasn't too bad off, but I can tell you I wasn't Peter Petrelli back then; I was 'Nathan's little brother.' My teachers kept criticizing me because of what _he _could do. Class president, highest average in Law Ed…and I was roped into the lawyer thing, so I wasted four years on law and judicial courses, when I _should _have taken the medical pathway. I…pretty much screwed it up."

"You turned out okay," beamed Claire. Peter faux pouted.

"Just _okay_?"

"Alright, _fabulous_!"

They'd never had a conversation like this before…just about their pasts, themselves. Every other time the subject would turn to their powers, or the end of the world, but this was a great normalizer for both of them. Peter got to reflect on what a klutz he was, while Claire absorbed everything she possibly could about her hero.

Neither one of them had intended to just sit there for hours, chatting, until the clock turned past midnight, deep into the AMs. Their discussion had turned into lazy murmurs, with Claire resting under the covers, against her pillow, not taking her eyes off Peter. The man himself was on his stomach, sprawled out at her feet, on top of the covers and still fully dressed.

He let a big yawn escape his lips, and his eyes closed. He found that he could not open them up again, and submitted to sleep, with Claire's raspy goodnight the last thing tying him to consciousness.

The loud buzzing woke Claire first. She blinked drowsily, drifting into reality, trying to figure out where the grinding noise was coming from. But then she saw Peter and her query was forgotten.

The young man was languidly stretched across the foot of the bed, one hand resting on his stomach, while another was hanging off the side of the bed. Claire felt his abs pressing down on her comforter-covered toes, tempting her to wiggle her feet a bit just see if he was ticklish. His long volumous bangs were just slightly obscuring his face so Claire could still see enough of him; his parted lips (his lower lip drooping from that birth defect he explained about in their latest conversation), calm expression, his slow breathing. He seemed peaceful, sleepy, and innocent, and Claire didn't notice the little giggle that escaped her lips.

Unfortunately, Peter started to stir, halting Claire's study of him. He bewilderedly leaned up and looked around, trying to figure out how he'd fallen asleep in jeans and a café brown hoodie. Any questions he may have had were overwhelmed when he caught sight of Claire smiling at him and sinking back into his fluffy pillows.

Peter's eyes widened, and the events of the night before came rushing back to him. How late had they stayed up talking? Peter was so tired, but he hadn't been able to tear himself away from her and their conversation. In the end, he was too weighted to even stumble ten feet to the couch (his current sleeping arrangement) and he went right to sleep by the footboard.

Now he was jolting up, clutching his throbbing head, prompting Claire's chipper expression to sink. He yawned a couple times then shook out his limbs, before beginning a stream of nervous apologies to Claire.

"I'm really sorry about that, I was just tired, and I fell asleep without knowing-,"

"Shh, it's okay," assured Claire, her smile returning at the sight of his messy hair. "After all that Claude-beating you had every right to sleep on something comfy."

Peter looked speechless. "Well, yeah, but you're-,"

"I don't mind. Now what's that _annoying _noise?"

Peter hadn't noticed the impatient doorbell buzzing throughout his apartment. He quickly tousled his hair, trying to get it to lie somewhat straight, and went to answer the door.

"Nathan," he groaned, looking through the peephole. He turned to Claire. "Er…you might want to go get dressed."

He opened the door as Claire hurriedly grabbed her duffel bag and went into the master bathroom.

Nathan scrutinized Peter's wrinkled apparel as he walked through the doorway, and Peter tried to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

"So you've finally decided not to run from me anymore, eh Pete?" asked Nathan sardonically with his fingertips on his hips.

How much Peter wished he could just go back to bed. "Yeah…sure," he muttered, yawning again.

Nathan put a hand on his brother's shoulder and peered closer. "Is something wrong with you?"

Peter shrugged off Nathan's hands. "Fine. Just didn't get my forty winks."

"Was it because of another one of your _visions_?" scoffed Nathan, but Peter could tell that there was some worry mixed with the snappiness.

"No," Peter said honestly, worrying that this dialogue would take a wrong turn. "Listen, just…why are you here?"

"Suresh. He's working on a cure, and he needs your DNA for it, and he told me to ask you for some. A strand of hair, some blood, a nail clipping, anything like that. Afterwards, he wants you to be the first patient."

Peter's eyes flashed with an uncalled for selfishness. "What if I don't want to be cured, _Nathan?_ You can hate your ability all you want, but I like mine. I finally get to be something, and all you want to do is take it away."

"It's not an ability, it's a mutation," growled Nathan dangerously. "You know how much this could kill my election? Everything I've ever worked for? People can't understand what we're capable of, they _won't _understand. And if you're set to blow up this city, it's the only way to stop it."

"I have help, I have other ways," cried Peter indignantly. "Will you ever trust that I can get myself out of something on my own for _once_?"

"Not now," was Nathan's flat reply. "It's too risky. You need to go back to your job, your old life, Peter. Start making something of yourself. You're twenty six years old, for God's sake, when I was your age-,"

Peter sighed, turning away from his rambling older brother and pacing a bit before turning back around when an idea struck him. An idea that would make him forget his own desires, making them seem so petty and he felt noble just thinking about offering it.

It was also as close as he was gonna get to having a say in his own fate while Nathan was there.

"How 'bout this? What if there's something in it for me? Or actually, someone I know."

Nathan stared. "What?"

Before Peter could reply, Claire emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt. She tried to make herself undetectable, but Nathan spotted her as soon as she walked to the other side of the bedroom.

"Who the hell is that?" hissed Nathan. Claire heard him, and wished desperately that she could turn invisible like Peter and Claude.

"Come in here, Claire," hollered Peter from the living room. Claire timidly tread her way over to the brothers, feeling herself dissected by Nathan's piercing glower. She recognized him from his campaign commercial, recalling his bright grins that even then she'd seen as fake.

"Why again did you say you were so tired, Peter?" asked Nathan, cocking his head disdainfully. Peter gaped, crossing his arms over his chest.

"We were _talking_," he said squarely and slow, emphasizing the 'talking.' Nathan closed his eyes, seething.

"Ignorance is bliss. I'm not gonna even _ask_," Nathan decided at last, finally deciding to open his lids. Claire was getting increasingly uncomfortable, to Peter's alert.

"That deal, then?" he changed the subject. Nathan sunk back into his normal self, rubbing his forehead tiredly.

"What do you want?" he groaned.

Peter nudged Claire gently with his elbow. "Find her father. Lewis Rushton. That's why she came to New York, and she's staying with me because she's being hunted by a murderer. If you find Rushton…I'll take your cure."

Nathan considered it, while Claire made sure she had heard right. "A cure?" she whispered.

Peter nodded, while Nathan tried negotiating some more. "And you'll start working again? You'll move on with your damn life already?"

"After I avoid exploding, yeah," replied Peter, calmer then a man should be who was basically throwing his dreams away.

Claire grabbed his wrist harshly. "No! You can't take a cure! You have to save the world!"

Heart already clenching, Peter shot a look to Nathan, and the older man excused himself, heading into the bedroom and giving the others a moment's privacy.

His selflessness had reached a new record. He'd abandoned his bed, life, job, his ambitions, and now his powers all in the name of helping Claire. At first, she had been flattered by his kindness, but now she knew it was just too much. No one could accept such gifts when they had done nothing in return. It was unfair, unethical, and almost inhumane.

"I'm the one _destroying_ the world," choked Peter. "This is how I can save it."

"But what about afterward?" breathed Claire quickly. "You hated how your life was, you told me last night. These powers mean so much to you; I won't let you throw them away for me."

"I thought you said the powers were awful," Peter said quizzically.

"They used to be for _me. _But you…look at all the things you can _do_! What I can …it's all gross and I might die alone five hundred years in the future or something. But you can move things with your mind; y-you know how many times in my life that I wanted invisibility, too?"

"This isn't about me," replied Peter simply. "I can't let my selfishness make the world end. And on top of that, you can find your real father. It's worth it if something good comes out of this."

Claire didn't know what to say. She was engrossed by his sincerity, his heart. How could a _human _put so much on the line. It was against their nature, Homo sapiens, to be anything but selfish and greedy. Where did Peter _put _it all? Did he just release his anger, his seven sins, or did they build up in the pit of his stomach, the ultimate secret that not even Claire knew about?

"This could _really _be the one way to save the world." smiled Peter. "It may just be destiny."

Claire scoffed weakly. "You'd give up your freak show for destiny?"

Peter was nonchalant. "I wanted these powers so I could be a hero. Now, I've done that, haven't I? It's time to start giving back."

In the space of a couple minutes, he'd gone from being addicted to his ability, to seeing the big picture and realizing what a futile little person he was in the grand scheme of things. Peter had always been self-sacrificing, and even his little bouts of egocentricity were short-lived and regretted. Claire had never stopped being the priority, even after Homecoming. She still needed to be protected and cared for, and he was the only one left to do so. He'd died for her, he'd killed for her (even if the victim had come back to life and walked away)…this would not be the worse sacrifice in the world.

Nathan re-entered, coming out of the bathroom. He arched a daring eyebrow at his brother.

"So?"

"I'll do it. I give my powers up and I'll go back to my life if you find Lewis Rushton and bring him to Claire. No loopholes, no double-talking, no excuses. Agreed?" Peter announced, subtly raising himself to his full height, which was slightly taller then Nathan.

Nathan sighed. "Write down everything you know about the guy, kid. I'll try to find him."

Claire didn't much appreciate being called 'kid', but she still continued to grab a post-it off Peter's computer desk, and wrote down the few facts she knew about her father.

"He lived in New York the last time I heard, but that was fifteen years ago," Claire added, as she wrote. She handed the piece of sticky paper to Nathan, and he scanned over it.

"As soon as I find this man, you're taking that cure," he told Peter sternly. Peter's mouth was a grim slash, and he extended his hand.

"Shake on it."

"It's only proper," shrugged Nathan, gripping his brother's hand and roughly shaking it. Claire felt queasy staring at their intertwined hands, sealing the ultimate agreement.

Nathan smiled like a skeeving lawyer, which was of course fitting, before letting himself out. The door slammed, and Peter couldn't tear his eyes away from it, the fire escape instructions, the gold doorknob with the cracked foil, and the gray green paint job that was starting to peel. Everything he'd just consented to was so rushed and done out of an honorable high. His heart began to sink. Though he would have done the same thing if he had the choice to go back and change it (and incidentally, he could), he still felt suffocated, his mind clicking through all the things that he would no longer be able to do once he got that shot.

Flying, the one beautiful thing he'd wanted to do all his life? No longer an option. Being able to survive anything? Out the window. Being able to tell what people were thinking, saving him so much frustration? That would be dissolved as well. He'd be normal again, unspecial, insignificant. He'd still be admired by his family and friends, of course; Peter wasn't _that _pessimistic…but the impending power drain was not a happy event.

Claire sensed his deep thoughts, watching him as he stared burning holes into that door. She lightly grabbed his wrist, mostly to remind him that she was still there, grateful for the rest of her life (if it was possible to be even _more _grateful; she already owed him her life). The least she could do was offer a comforting hand and a listening ear.

Claire wanted him to grin in that quirky, crooked way now more than ever before. His chagrin was catching, and the seriousness started to make the air thick and stuffy. She had to restrain herself from just throwing herself into his arms, nuzzling into his chest and consoling herself as much as him. She wanted to bow to his feet and just _cry _out all the debt and thankfulness, kiss him over and over, pouring out her reverence and current worship of everything he had altruistically done for her. But there was no way to express it; instead, she stood there numbed, holding his wrist and resting her forehead against his bicep.

"Thank you," she whispered faintly. "For everything."

Peter seemed to come around to her presence, still not taking his eyes off the wall. His arm slid up, catching her fingertips, and then he brought his hand down with hers in its grasp. Claire was surprised, but not taken aback. She felt pressure on the top of her head, his chin turning to rest on her crown. Exhaling together, the stood in unified thought, the beginning of the end coming faster then ever expected.

**Mohinder Suresh**

**Brooklyn, New York**

Suresh heard the knock on the door just as he sat down at his computer desk to start more work on the list. Muttering indignantly in his native tongue, he pursed his lips, got up out of his chair, and went to open his door.

"What?" he asked sourly as he turned his doorknob. His surly mood evaporated, when he saw that it was Nathan Petrelli glowing arrogantly in his doorway.

"Do you have it?" breathed Mohinder, ushering the other man inside. Nathan smirked.

"Yeah," he said pulling a brown hairbrush out of his pocket. "He agreed to it anyway, but that was _after _I took this. They were talking and I stole it out of the bathroom. I figured a little insurance couldn't hurt."

Mohinder took the hairbrush from Nathan, as happy as anyone could possibly be about seeing a brush full of hair. "Well done, Nathan, thank you. I'll get to work on it right away."

"Good, Doctor. I'm counting on it."

Suresh gently pulled out Peter's hair from the brush and placed it in a glass vial he dug up from one of his drawers.

"I know," he agreed. "We all are."

**Peter and Claire**

**Peter's Apartment**

By dinnertime, Peter and Claire's moods had gotten slightly more normal with Peter's cooking improving the mood even more.

"I've heard some interesting things about my lasagna before," he commented as he set it out on the table, "Nathan says that it tastes like it's burnt and cold at the same time."

"Who are you, Susan off _Desperate Housewives_?" giggled Claire, sticking her fork into the lump of odd looking pasta that she'd served herself.

Peter didn't get it. "I...don't watch _Desperate Housewives_."

"Susan's macaroni and cheese. She can never make it right. It's always tasteless, or too cheesy, or undercooked, or fried, or something. Everyone hates it, even her."

Peter chuckled. "I promise that you don't have to like the lasagna. I've got ice cream in the freezer; you can eat that for dinner if you want."

"Well, I'll at least _taste _it," grinned Claire, making a big show of picking up a forkful and putting it in her mouth. Indeed, he was right. The pasta was hardly chewable or cooked and the sauce still had bits of frost in it. She really, really, _really, _tried not to just spit it out and dive into that ice cream that he'd offered. But poor Peter had had _such _a terrible day. If she owed him a life debt, she could at least pretend to adore his cooking.

Peter eagerly awaited her reaction, preparing himself for her grimace, and maybe even a little vomit. Instead, she masticated, swallowed, and winked at him.

"Nathan's an idiot. It's awesome."

Peter almost fell over. "Are you kidding me? Bearable, maybe, in a stranded-on-a-desert-island-with-nothing-else-to-eat kind of way but _awesome_?"

"I mean it! I love it, really," Claire lied, taking in another mouthful just to prove her point. _This is very tasty. I love it. Ha! Get out of my head Peter! Nothing to see here! _

Peter beamed, heading back into the kitchen to grab the broccoli and breadsticks. Claire allowed herself a small gag before remembering his kindness, and imagining that the lasagna tasted like cupcakes. Peter re-entered the room, setting down the remaining food and pouring some Coke into her glass. She grabbed it quickly, washing down what she had just eaten a little too enthusiastically, prompting Peter's smile to drop a notch.

He sat across from her. "Are you lying?" he asked, not unkindly or hurt, but with a knowing glint in his eye.

"No," replied Claire innocently, taking a bite of bread. Luckily, Peter hadn't screwed that up.

Peter peered at her closer, as if he could find a spot on her that advertised her untruthfulness.

"I think you are."

"Am not!" protested Claire.

"I dunnnno…." smirked Peter, looking at the ceiling in fake naivety.

Claire gave up. "Okay, okay! I'm lying!"

Peter grinned good-naturedly. "So what do you really think about it?"

Staring at his anticipation, Claire lowered her eyes shamefully. "It's _awful_. You _are _Susan Meyor."

Peter burst out laughing. "I knew it! No one likes it, why would you?"

"You've had a bad day. A bad _month_. It's the least I could do," she said sympathetically.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Me having an off day will _not _make you just _like_ my cooking, Claire. I'm not offended at all, honestly. I hate it, even. And I kinda wanted you to hate it too. It's like a… crappy housewarming present to my life."

Claire mentally smacked herself. She'd tried to make things better and she'd actually made it WORSE. Peter had tried to offer such a kind gesture…if it was a twisted confused kind of gesture…and she had gone and messed up his intentions. Did she even deserve to hate Peter's crummy lasagna anymore?

"It's fine," Peter shrugged, waving a carefree arm. "You have good taste."

Claire loosened up. "It's a good sign, I guess. You're a nurse, which is _already _pushing it. If you were Emeril on top of that, I'd have to start thinking something…"

Peter laughed again. "At least I wasn't a cheerleader."

Claire tutted kindly. "Touché."

They fell into a clean silence, not even pretending to eat the lasagna, and instead finishing off the bread and vegetable. Smirking wickedly, Peter decided to keep his promise about the ice cream, tossing Claire a tub of Moose Tracks after they cleaned up.

"Another housewarming gift, this one slightly tastier."

Claire blushed, going to grab a bowl, but Peter stopped her, handing her a large spoon.

"There's only one way to eat ice cream," he winked. Claire caught his drift, cracking open the top and sticking her spoon right in.

"I don't know what I did in a past life," she said a few minutes later, when they were once again curled up across from each other on Peter's bed. It had almost become like a secret tree house for them, where they went to talk and in this case, stuff themselves with calories.

"I mean," she continued. "Everything is _so _weird."

"Well," Peter said decently, "normal is boring anyway."

Claire smiled sadly. "My best friend used to tell me that. Before they took away his memories."

Peter saw the joviality in her eyes start to flicker, making his heart twist a bit. Whatever this was that compelled him to care about her, barely knowing her at all, glowed stronger and he found himself frowning. But now. He was realizing that it was increasingly difficult to see her as "this girl that I have to protect and I don't know why." The more conversations they had like this, the closer they got. Claire was more then the damsel, she was now his friend. Admittedly, he usually hung out with people his own age, but they were two destined souls, bonded by trauma, and friendship would be hard to worm out of in their situation.

"I think I've had enough dinner," Claire proclaimed, closing her half-eaten tub of ice cream that she assumed was now hers entirely, having shamelessly double-dipped. Peter seemed to concur, and he took the tub and spoon off her hands as she thanked him, again, for everything.

"It's nothing. You'd do the same for me," he replied confidently, returning to the kitchen. Claire leaned against the bedroom doorway.

"Are you sure? It's not that I wouldn't _want _to but I don't know if I _could_…" Her face was taught with worry of an obligation she wasn't certain she could fulfill. Peter tried to give her an encouraging gaze.

"You will. And not just for me, for anyone. I'm sure of it."

"I think you're full of lasagna."

Peter snorted. "Off to bed. You need your sleep after last night."

Claire sighed, but obliged, heading into the bathroom to get ready. After brushing her teeth, she frowned, looking around.

"Hey Peter?" she asked, poking her head out of the door.

"Yeah, what's goin' on?"

Claire bit her lip. "Have you seen my hairbrush?"

Yeah..that's kind of an odd place to leave off a chapter, but it's kind of…suspenseful, I guess. ) I'll update soon!! And don't worry, though Nathan was a little cruel in this chapter (more like the beginning of the season then present-Nate) he'll eventually loosen up. After all, like Mama Petrelli says, he is just a big sap. )


	6. Nightmares and Miracles

**Chapter Five**

"**Nightmares and Miracles"**

Peter Petrelli woke up yawning.

He was awake rather early, blinking to clear the foggy glaze off of his eyes.

Stumbling out of his bed, he clumsily walked and leaned onto his bedroom vanity. Sighing at the sight of his hair- it would take yet another twenty minutes out of his life just to fix it for another day- he bent in and studied the subtly handsome, but slightly gawky man staring back. Peter had never been a narcissist; in fact, he wasn't too terribly fond of his reflection. But humans naturally seem to like looking in mirrors, just to make sure they're still…there.

Peter found the side of his mouth turning into a small smile. He was still here, all together, about to live another day…when the image staring back at him morphed into his worst plague.

"You think you can stop it?" sneered an irate gaze, taking the place of where Peter's reflection had been just seconds before.

"You still don't even know what powers are!" Sylar was laughing, taunting him just like he had in the jail cell. Peter yelped and fell away from his vanity, heart pounding in his chest and ears ringing with Sylar's maniacal chortling.

Peter Petrelli woke up screaming.

Claire jolted awake when Peter was in mid-scream, her heart flashing tense at the sound. She tried to figure out her surroundings; she was in Peter's bed, alone, in the middle of the night, and Peter was sitting upright on the couch, panting.

"Peter!" she cried, rushing into the bathroom and filling up his rinse glass with water. She rushed over to him, flicking on a lamp as she made her way to the couch. Peter's eyes automatically narrowed at the sudden light, making him see fuzzy spots before his eyes.

"Peter…Peter, what's wrong?" asked Claire frantically, placing the glass of water delicately in his hands. He drank it gratefully, wiping the cold sweat off his face.

Peter tried to catch his breath and sit up, taking another gulp of water before replying.

"I had another dream. One of my…_real _dreams."

Claire looked at him sympathetically, pulling up the coffee table so she could sit on it, talking to him at eye level.

"What'd you see? What's gonna happen? Did you explode?"

"No, no," Peter replied slowly. "It wasn't precognitive. It was just…I don't even know how to explain. It wasn't so horrible, it was…bizarre. Shocking."

"Try to describe it," urged Claire gently. She knew she was prying, but she really wanted to help him. Peter looked uncomfortable, as if he wasn't so certain he wanted to indulge her.

"I, uh…" he stuttered. "I looked in a mirror and…"

Claire reached out and squeezed his wrist. "And?"

"That guy that tried to kill you…he was there. He was my _reflection,_ and he told me that I can't stop it; I don't anything about power."

Her hand flying to her mouth, Claire looked upon his distressed face with her grey, understanding eyes.

"Who is he, what's him name?" she whispered, barely audible.

"I don't know," choked Peter. "He was another one of my dreams. That night of homecoming when I was in the jail cell. He said the same thing to me, about power. I got a good look at his face too, but I'm not sure if that's what he really looks like, or if my mind's just making things up…"

"Not in your dreams," Claire shook her head. "This has to mean something. Jackie bought this book in middle school about dreams. It said that sugar cubes mean, like, danger's coming and stuff."

Peter chuckled and then said sarcastically, "Well, I didn't see any sugar cubes so my nerves are _completely _calmed, Claire, thanks."

He paused, and then took on a more serious face.

"In my dream…I _turned into _that guy…and two days ago I used his powers. They've gotta be connected, _everything's _connected."

"What are you gonna do about it?"

Peter exhaled loudly. "The only thing I can do is keep trying to control my powers. I don't know what this guy has to do with me exploding…but if I'm stronger I can take him on. I have a feeling we'll be seeing him soon."

Claire's eyes flashed in fear and she took in a sharp breath. Peter tried to smile at her weakly.

"Don't worry," he told her confidently. "I'll train with Claude all day tomorrow. Alone. I don't need any distractions. I'll get Nathan or Mohinder or someone to come over and watch you."

Claire frowned. "Watch me? I'm seventeen, I don't need-,"

"It's not that I don't trust you," Peter silenced her, holding up a finger. "It's just that it's dangerous. I'd be worried sick if you were alone here all day."

Claire ignored the pleasurable squirm in her stomach at his concern, and opted for sighing helplessly.

"If it'll help you," she said solemnly. "I'll do whatever. And while we're at it…"

Claire pushed the coffee table back to its original spot and grabbed Peter's hands, pulling him off the couch. She pointed towards the bedroom.

"Sleep in there tonight. I'll take the couch."

"Claire-…"

"You need it more than I do, okay?"

The look of care that she gave him made it impossible for Peter to decline her kind offer.

"Alright," he said quietly. "But you go back to it tomorrow night."

Claire was too tired to argue, so she simply shrugged. Peter gave both of her arms a grateful rub before turning and heading back to his giant bed. Claire yawned and lay down on the green, itchy couch. How could Peter have survived on this thing? She could barely fit on it herself; how did he manage with nine inches of height on her?

Even though she was uncomfortable, she wouldn't have changed her offer for the world. It was the very minimum she give to her hero.

**Peter Petrelli and Claude Raines**

**Columbus Park, New York**

"In through your nose and out through your mouth."

"I know how to breathe, Claude."

Claude scoffed. "Oh, spare me."

Peter rolled his eyes, sitting cross-legged on a patch of grass in Columbus Park. Claude had found it too noisy, but Peter, on the contrary, was unnerved by quiet. New York was his home, and the sound of traffic was comforting rather than distracting.

Even with his harbor of annoyance, Peter still obeyed his mentor. Claude was talking to him about unlocking new powers; the show of telekinesis on the roof was proof that even Peter himself wasn't aware of his maximum potential.

"Focus back, particularly to that killer. You probably took in a gold mine of abilities just by being around him. Try to feel them out, unlock them."

Relaxing some more, Peter tried to imagine the murderer in his mind. Thick eyebrows…a baseball cap and heavy stubble…piercing dark features…and from what Peter could remember, a very tall, broad-shouldered, but lanky frame. Claude noticed a shudder go through his apprentice.

"I see him," Peter murmured. "Now what?"

"You've got to do more than just _see _him," Claude growled impatiently. "You've got to _feel _him. That's what you're supposedly so good at, right?"

Peter bit back a retort, still trying to remain in his meditative zone.

What was this man made of? Ruthlessness and insanity, obviously. But how could Peter feel that? He needed to peer deeper…into _emotions_. _Expressions._

"I…I don't think he's that angry," Peter mused, frowning. "More frustrated."

"How do you know?"

"I dunno!" the young man snapped. "I just do, alright?"

Claude put his hand over his heart in mock-horror. "What a temper the pup has this morning!"

"Shut up," Peter barked, "you're breaking my focus."

Seeming to agree, Claude obliged without question. Peter inhaled deeper, trying to sense the killer even stronger. A cold heart…a hunger…so bitter that Peter could practically feel the ice on his fingertips…

"…Peter?" asked Claude hesitantly.

Peter angrily shushed him, but Claude called his name again, more insistently. Peter opened one eye and saw Claude pointing to the ground. Arching a confused eyebrow, he slowly tilted his eye line to the grass that he was sitting on.

"Oh God," Peter gasped. The grass around him was no longer lively and green; it was frozen.

"How…how did I…?" he rambled, standing up to inspect the frosted plant life. A plate of rime extended a foot radius from where Peter was sitting, and then it just stopped, as though the still vivid grass was not an inch from destruction.

Claude clapped his hands in glee. "Looks like you just found a new power, mate!"

"Ice?" asked Peter, aghast. "How can anyone have _ice_?"

"How can anyone fly?" retaliated Claude stridently. "These things don't make sense, they're just there. And don't go shunning the ice, that's a damn useful ability."

"I focused on his past," whispered the pupil. "Why he's the way he is…he's looking for something, but he can't find it. And this, this power here, is what I got out of it?"

Claude's eyes darkened. "Dissatisfaction can make any man cold."

"Yeah," Peter concurred absently. "But what's he looking for? Why's he killing people?"

Claude shrugged, coming out of his reverie. "Search me. He's a maniac; their only motive is the next victim."

Peter shook his head. "No, no. That's not what this is about. He's not crazy." Claude snorted disbelievingly and Peter leveled with him. "Well yeah, okay, he-he is, he kills people…but that's not why he's doing it. He's still so powerful too…but people with great power only want more, right?"

Stoking his beard, Claude began to get Peter's train of thought. "What does power have to do with murder? You don't honestly think that he can _take _their powers?"

"I can take their powers; is it really that hard to believe?"

Claude pointed a stern finger at Peter's chest. "You were born like that; it's embedded into your DNA. If someone cuts your throat, he would not be able to just _do _what you do. It doesn't work that way, Peter."

"This guy's not just anyone though!" cried Peter, waving his arms around frantically. "What if-what if…he's like me, he just…absorbs their powers through violence or something?"

Claude sighed and turned around, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "You're 'round the bend, you know that? That theory doesn't make any sense at all!"

"He could drink their blood, ingest their DNA in some way and his ability merges it with his own."

"Oh, so now we're chasing a vampire, is that it?"

Peter groaned, grasping for some sort of explanation to support his long-shot thesis.

"Wait a minute-," he breathed, a light bulb going off in his head. "Chandra Suresh. He wrote this book, _Activating Evolution_. It talked about everyone's abilities…and how everything is based in the brain. These powers; all of it's in the brain!"

Claude grumbled. "If you say what I think you're about to say-."

Peter ignored him. "He takes their brain, that's it! Claire said that he cut open Jackie's head…and that painting that I finished had a picture of a cheerleader with the top of her head cut off!"

"What about the ingesting part, eh?" Claude pointed out. "Listen, your boy's not Sir Anthony Hopkins. It's a coincidence! If he thought he was killing an indestructible girl, how else would he go about doing it? The only way she can probably die is without her brain."

Peter wouldn't budge from his stance. "He could have ripped her heart out. Or her liver. Or any organ, really. Why the brain? _Because it's important_." He was shouting now, though half the time he was around Claude he found himself raising his voice. "Why won't you have an open mind about this?"

"You're telling me that _he eats brains_!" Claude yelled, grabbing Peter by the lapels and shaking him, as though the madness could just _fall _out.

Pushing Claude off of him like he had done so many times, Peter put a thoughtful hand to his lips.

Claude was right; it sounded ridiculous. But what other explanation was there? It all fit: the brain as the core, Jackie, a motive for killing, and the reason why this man was so powerful.

"He needs a name," Peter said aloud, a spare thought that had bothered him for a while now. "We can't just call him 'the killer' all the time."

"Well, look for his name," Claude replied, as though it were obvious.

Peter mulled it over for a second, trying to bring memories of the hooded stranger back. The whole situation, his whole _being, _merged into one name that flashed to Peter in lightning form.

"Gabriel," he announced.

"A messenger angel? Oh, that's fitting," Claude said sardonically.

"What do you _want _me to call him, Charles Manson? Cut me some slack, it just came to me. It's better than no name at all."

"How 'bout Hannibal, eh? Or Dracula? Those are rather appropriate from your theory, don't you think?" Claude mocked, prompting Peter to fall into an embarrassed seethe.

"Don't even worry about this, lad," Claude continued in a more friendly tone. "You've got no business with…_Gabriel, _if we must call him that. If you go after him, all you're gonna do is wind up cut into tiny pieces and stashed in a freezer. And trust me, even you couldn't heal from that."

Peter's face was firm. "He's still after Claire. My dream was proof of that! I can't just stand here and do nothing!"

"You're wasting your time worrying!" howled Claude. "It was a _dream_! Do you really expect for him to appear in your mirror one day?"

"No, but-,"

"Say it with me, now. It. Was. A. Dream!"

There was no convincing him, so Peter gave up trying to argue. He knew it had been more than just a dream; a vision. It wasn't as mad or hypothetical enough to be any old dream.

"You're getting carried away," proclaimed Claude, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just because you're a demi-god doesn't mean you're right all the time."

"Claire is in danger-,"

"Claire, Claire, Claire," Claude scoffed. "She's _indestructible_! Did you ever fathom a thought that she might not need your protection?"

As always, there was a good point behind Claude's rant. Peter had been so wrapped up in the mission that he hadn't been able to use his common sense. Claire could probably get run over with a lawnmower and still have her hair in perfect waves; she didn't need him to monitor her every flinch.

Yet, even with this revelation, his heart did not harden, nor did he stop believing in his role as her protector. Funny that, how he himself barely knew anything about being a bodyguard, but he still managed to feel confident and hell-bent on taking any blow for a girl he hardly knew.

"I'm still keeping an eye out for him," Peter replied stubbornly, planting his feet into the last word. "People like that don't just disappear, and he didn't get what he was after the first time. For some reason, I have a feeling that Gabriel doesn't like that too much, and he's gonna come looking for it again. Claire. And since I stood in his way before, he's bound to be ten times as determined to kill me too."

"It'd solve the exploding problem," Claude said. Peter would have taken offense, but he'd been around Claude so much now that he knew when the other man was joking.

Peter didn't reply. He picked his trench coat up off the sunny ground, slid his arms through the sleeves, and flipped his collar up so it grazed his ears.

"Never can be too careful," sighed Claude helplessly. Peter nodded tersely, eyes mysteriously more ebony than usual. He turned and walked down the sidewalk, fading into visibility as Claude shimmered away. Peter missed sight of the phenomenon; he did not look back.

**Claire Bennet**

**Peter' Apartment**

Daytime soaps had two uses for Claire: something to watch while she was sick, and a great time slot for make-up commercials. Needless to say, the latter made her ashamed of her former self.

On this particular afternoon, she was, for once, actually interested in _Passions. _After a lot of arguing with himself, Peter had settled on Heidi to be Claire's babysitter. A wheel chaired woman could hardly hold her own in a fight, but this was more about calming Peter's own paranoia then trying to find the Incredible Hulk to protect Claire.

On any other occasion, Peter would have turned to Nathan first, or even perhaps Simone. But Nathan and Mohinder would most likely probe his DNA, and he wasn't on the best terms with Simone or Isaac. Heidi, on the other hand, was someone who knew how to keep her lips sealed. And, to his shock, he had already been acquainted with Claire.

This forced Claire to sheepishly admit that she had been looking for him. They'd shared a lot of personal info with each other, but that little situation still bugged her.

When Heidi showed up at the apartment door in that wheelchair, Claire's breath stopped. No wonder Nathan had show no wife in his campaign commercials…Nathan seemed like the kind of man who would find such a thing weak. _How sad, _thought Claire. _She's so beautiful too. _

But by mid-afternoon, she had become so talkative with the woman that she doubted Heidi would be handicapped for very long. Getting to know this sweet blue-eyed woman made Claire wonder how Nathan could fit into a family full of saints.

"Trust me," grumbled Heidi. "If you ever met my mother-in-law, you'd see that Nathan's not lonely."

Currently, it was around two o'clock, and _Days of Our Lives _was just beginning. Claire took the commercial break as a chance to grab a snack from the fridge. Talking worked up an appetite, and the girl had already eaten a granola bar, an apple, some Lays, and a sandwich.

Right by the freezer handle was a torn picture of a large black man, grinning jovially. His smile was infectious, so much so that Claire was eager to learn who he was.

She carefully plucked the picture off of the fridge door and walked back over to Heidi.

"Hey, do you know who this is?"

Heidi peered closer at the snapshot. "I think this is Peter's first client, Charles…something. Peter talked about him all the time, before Charles went comatose. He died about a month ago."

"Aw," whispered Claire. She didn't even know the man, but she felt her heart clench at word of his passing. "He looks like he was nice."

"That's what Peter said," Heidi agreed, handing the photo back to Claire, after frowning and running her finger over the rough right edge. "I wonder why it's torn, though. I can't imagine why Peter would damage a picture of Charles."

Claire looked closer. "Yeah, you're right. Come to think of it, I saw him put it on the freezer a couple nights ago."

She approached a better light and inspected the picture. "There's someone's arm wrapped around Charles's shoulders, but they were cut out. It looks like a woman; there are a lot of bangles on the wrist."

Heidi shrugged. "I guess you can ask him when he comes home."

Claire smiled tightly, heading back into the kitchen to replace the picture in its rightful spot. She didn't need Heidi's wisdom or Peter's explanations to know who had been in that photo.


	7. Frozen Teardrops

I've been a little lax on the disclaimer, so here goes:

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Six**

"**Frozen Teardrops"**

**Peter Petrelli**

**Centre Street, New York**

Brooding through the rain that was now starting to drizzle, Peter passed by the taxi and subway, choosing to walk home instead. It was only a short mosey from Columbus Park to his apartment building at on the corner of Centre and Canal.

A sea of yellow umbrellas blossomed on the crowded New York street as the glistening shower started to grow in fervor. Peter wore no umbrella, but a wicked smirk, recalling that there were ten other ways _he _could fend off the rain. Telekinetically stop the raindrops…crystallize them into sleek hail…or even fly up, up, and away to avoid the impending downpour.

After his umpteenth meeting with Claude, Peter's mood had experienced an uncharacteristic shift. More like a complete 180, actually. The epiphanies about Gabriel were gruesome, but filled his resolve with more fire and dark determination than anything he'd encountered in recent times. Their enemy was even more of a psychopath then they'd suspected, making it all the more dangerous for Claire.

Peter was only vaguely concerned about his own life.

**Claire Bennet and Heidi Petrelli**

**Peter's Apartment**

_Days of Our Lives _reached its half-hour intermission when Claire heard the faint jingling of keys outside the front door. A couple seconds later, Peter slid through, wet bangs hanging snarled across his eyes and forehead.

Claire immediately handed him a dish towel from the kitchen and commented sympathetically that he forgot his umbrella. Peter chuckled grimly, wringing out his sodden, coal-colored hair.

Before he could muster up some sort of verbal response, Heidi rolled over from the living room, her warm smile falling quirky at the sight of her sharp brother-in-law.

"Hey Pete," she said slowly, inspecting his dripping trench coat. "There were no problems or anything. Your friend was a total brat, though," she joked, winking at Claire.

Peter didn't seem much in the mood for frivolity though, and Heidi judged so by his tight barely-there smile. Heidi shifted into her normal etiquette.

"Really, Claire was a gem," Heidi told him honestly, "I'll watch her anytime you're out."

Peter couldn't help but smiling back genuinely; his ivory white teeth shone in contrast to the soaking locks clinging to the back of his neck. He stood in front of his foyer mirror, ruffling the towel across his boyish haircut, trying to dry things up.

"Thanks, Heidi," he said softly. "I'm sorry it was so short notice, but I haven't seen Andy since high school, and he was only in town for one day…"

A complete and utter lie, obviously. Heidi had no idea about their powers, so telling her that Peter was off training with Yoda would not have been appropriate. So, he invented some excuse about going to see an old friend from high school.

"It's alright, really," Heidi shrugged. "I understand."

After they had said their farewells, and Heidi had departed, Peter went into the bathroom and replaced his clothes with a dry wardrobe. He had taken a brush to his hair and gotten it to lay totally slicked back with wet. Claire found that she didn't like the look much, not on him at least. It was striking, but not to fit the Peter she knew and was comfortable around.

Especially since his current mood was already making her feel butterflies.

"Anything interesting happen?" she asked casually. Peter made a noncommittal noise, kicking off his shoes and curling up in one of his many comfy living room chairs.

"We talked about the killer," he muttered. "I think he's been slaying people for their powers, which makes it even more dangerous for us. We need to be on guard a lot more from now on."

Claire accepted this without hesitation, nodding for emphasis. "Okay…"

She expected him to continue, but instead, he just rested the back of his head against the top of the chair and closed his eyes, tired. It was too early to be that worn out, and Claire worried that he'd been beaten again by Claude.

"No, he didn't hit me," sighed Peter, peeking at her from barely opened eyes. Claire swallowed harshly.

"You were reading my mind?" she asked, easily turning into an accusation. Peter blinked.

"I didn't need to. What else would you have assumed?" he replied flatly.

"Did you discover any new powers this time?" Claire added, a reasonable assumption. Peter's normally chocolate eyes flashed hazel; Claire noticed that they often did this when he was wound up about something.

"As a matter of fact…" he murmured charily, "Follow me to the roof."

"It's raining," frowned Claire, perplexed. Peter grinned wickedly, making Claire's spine shiver in polar degrees of uneasiness. His eyes were back to black now, the momentary glee abandoned.

"I know," he husked, and slinked out the front door with Claire close behind.

The roof was already slick with puddles and the rain had reached its heavy pinnacle. Peter held to door open and Claire instinctively put her forearm out in front of her to shield her body from the blowing wetness.

Then, with one flick of his wrist, Peter made it stop. Every raindrop on that roof just halted, suspended in midair while the fall continued in the inverse of that little patch in a sea of skyscrapers. Claire gasped audibly, stepping outside with little drops of liquid crystals cascading over her skin and clothes.

"Is this the new power? Water control?" she whispered, walking towards the figure dressed in all black that stood in the center of the rooftop. He held his palms skyward, modest in his control.

"No, I'm just using telekinesis for this," he said quietly, nonchalantly.

Peter persisted with the mind-control, pulling drops from all around and merging them into a single, floating mass of water. Once it was about five feet tall, he began mentally shaping it until it formed a humanoid contour; particularly, a female with a small frame.

Peter turned his eyes to Claire, smiling innocently for the first time.

"No," he said, not peeling his eyes from hers. "_This _is the power."

Instantly, the entire water mass froze into a shining ice sculpture. Claire covered her hand with her mouth, approaching the masterpiece that was exactly her height.

"It's…_me._"

Peter casually leaned his elbow against the shoulder of his creation, smiling with slight arrogance at his handiwork.

"Save the cheerleader, save the world," he explained, and Claire noticed that not only did he make her, but she was posed hands-on-hips in her Union Wells cheerleading outfit.

"I haven't worn that outfit in a month. How do you even remember what it looks like?" she asked, amazed, and reaching out to touch her own water-glass hair.

"I remember everything," Peter said frankly. "Like it's my own name. I guess it's another power from Gabriel. I just started to notice it recently, but it's gotten stronger."

"Gabriel? Who's that?"

"I gave the killer a name," Peter shrugged.

"That's an awfully God-like thing to do," muttered Claire, beginning to match his surly mood. Peter seemed to have nothing to say, so Claire changed the subject.

"Er…where are we gonna put it?" she scratched her head, gesturing towards her frozen likeness.

Peter laughed in disbelief. "Put her? I didn't plan on keeping it."

Claire gaped at him. "You have to, Peter; this is incredible!"

He shrugged again. "I can do it any time I want."

That wasn't the point though. He just couldn't _get _her point, which Claire disturbingly noticed wasn't like Peter. It wasn't what it _was _that was so dear to Claire; it was the fact that the first thing he had thought to form out of the elements was her. Peter had just made _her_, except it was a pure and icily clean portrait, with no weights on its shoulders and no crow's feet on its eyes.

But to prove his point, like he always felt he needed to, Peter touched the sculpture, and with a tilt of his head, the whole thing melted into slush at Claire's feet. She kneeled down beside it, picking up a handful of former beauty, and feeling like she had just lost something beloved to her. Which, really, she had. Peter's unplanned gift was destroyed.

"Let's go inside," he heaved, a tinge of sourness back in his voice, which Claire hoped was not caused by her slightly foolish affection towards the sculpture. His hand was extended in front of her, ready to help her up. Still the gentleman even when he wasn't in the best of moods. Typical Peter.

She reluctantly picked her now soaked knees off of the ground, grabbing his hand and hauling herself up. Peter caught the forlorn in her eyes and his heart softened, disposition shape shifting once again. How could someone just change moods like that? He was literally brooding one second, and caring the next. It was the first sign that Claire, looking back on it, wished she could have recognized. The soon to be fallen angel was just starting walking the line now, before he'd launch the journey; teetering between heaven and hell where one push could lead to eternal damnation.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispered, in the voice that stayed up with her and talked, made her breakfast, protected her. "I'll make you something else later, and I promise you can keep it."

Claire snorted lightly. "Won't it melt?"

"Maybe not," he replied optimistically. "I'm trying to figure out how to get stuff to stay frozen, but it might take a while."

"Whatever," murmured Claire, her mind not on the conversation at all. She brushed past him and Peter sighed, following, feeling more defeated then he had all day.

_What miseries we can bring ourselves_.

Claire was a vengeful person. She hated admitting it to herself, but the fact was unavoidable. The thing is, the world would blow it off, assuming that this was just because she was a teenage girl. But Claire knew better. She knew that she had exacted revenge on her little brother when he tore off the heads on her Barbie dolls. She knew that she had the full intent of killing Brody Mitchum after he tried to rape her (and how no one had even suspected a murder attempt was beyond her). And even though she was growing to love Peter like a best friend, an ulcer pulsed to get back at him for his tartness.

Thoughts and heart merged together, telling her not to do anything to trouble Peter. Claire's inner, raw nature was too overpowering, though. It was the magnet that drew her right into the kitchen, where he was on the phone with the pizza guy; it pulled her feet to the fridge, and her fingertips to the torn picture of Charles Deveaux; finally, it strummed out five words on her vocal chords that she'd cringe right after hearing.

"Who's on the other half?"

Peter's brow shot up at her question, but he composed himself enough to silence her with his index finger, finishing out the delivery order. When he hung up his cell phone, she asked again.

She already knew the answer, of course; that wasn't what interested her. The answer was an old wound, and Claire's devilish side was delightfully pouring salt into it.

He covered better than she'd anticipated, though. "It was someone I didn't know. I only wanted Charles in it, so I tore it."

"_Who _in their right mind does that?" Claire mocked. She was collapsing on the inside, begging herself to stop while she was ahead, but all self-control over her snappy tongue had vanished. Peter frowned at her, his fragile good mood beginning to splinter.

"What is this, 20 Questions? Why do you care?" he snapped, not meaning about half of the harsh decibels that came out.

"I find it really weird that you're keeping secrets like this," Claire retaliated, pointing an accusing finger in his direction. Peter glared at her in disdain.

"Yeah, right," he scoffed, trying to sum up Matt Parkman's mind reading abilities. Only a few words buzzed in his ear from Claire's mind, but it was enough.

"If you knew it was Simone, why did you ask?" he asked, voice cracking in the middle in bewilderment.

Claire's friendship with the man standing before her finally beat down her envious need for a settling of scores. Her face softened, and she daintily placed Peter's photograph back on the fridge. His piercing gaze was trying to pull her apart, she was certain of it.

"I-I…I'm sorry. That was nosy, I shouldn't have…"

Peter approached her, and for the first time, Claire felt his close proximity awkward rather than comforting. He lightly touched her elbow, but she still would not look at him; she was too ashamed by her childish habit.

"Is something wrong? That wasn't like you," he said uneasily, abandoning his prior anger.

_Yeah, now you know how it feels_, Claire thought bluntly. Peter, unbeknownst to her, heard this statement and reeled back in understanding.

"Oh, God, I never even," he groaned, pressing his fingers to one of his temples. Claire stole a look at him, dread sinking in.

"You just read my mind?"

Peter nodded absently, reflecting on the past few hours. His heart had undergone an unusual chill, and he had barely noticed how distant he'd treated Claire. No wonder she was so curt…Peter swallowed firmly and was ready to face the consequences of his actions.

"I'm really sorry. About my bad mood earlier today, that is," he told her truthfully. "So I guess I kinda deserved that." Peter nodded towards the photo on his fridge. Claire's cheeks were beginning to pinken.

"No you didn't," muttered Claire, feeling much too guilty to meet his eyes. "I was being stupid. It's this thing that happens whenever I get mad."

"You turn into Cheerleader Hulk?"

Claire giggled lightly. "Yeah, somethin' like that. Except without the clothes ripping."

Peter 'heh'ed under his breath and Claire noticed his olive skin slightly reddening. Her eyes widened for a split second. _No _way_ is he blushing; _she smirked to herself, quickly masking the thought with uncontrollable laughter in case he was listening in.

"I…uh, wasn't sure what you liked on your pizza, so I just ordered cheese," Peter said, after clearing his throat diffidently.

"Oh, good," Claire smiled, relieved to have something good to eat rather than Peter's crappy lasagna. They both stood there for a couple moments, unsure of where to go from there.

Peter moistened his lips. "If I'm ever acting like a jerk again just…tell me, okay?"

"I will. And if I'm every really weird like that-,

"I'll know that I've done something wrong."

Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "That's…_not _what I was going to say, but..."

"I'll snap you out of it," Peter assured her, catching her drift. Claire's expression was bright, even among the melodramatic dialogue being exchanged between them. She winked at him to lighten the mood.

"And for future reference, I like ham on my pizza."


	8. Friends Only

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Seven**

"**Friends Only"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claude Raines**

**The Deveaux Building**

One month ago, Peter's heart flipped every time he saw Simone Deveaux.

Today, it tightened so taut, implosion would not have come as a shock. Funny, as _expl_osion was the problem he should have been dealing with.

Peter jerked his head firmly towards the cracked glass doors, but Claude stood stone like. The British man gestured towards the misty eyed raven leaning on the rooftop's edge.

"You can't run from her forever," Claude said in a low murmur. "I'm sick of hearing you bitch on about it for one thing, and until you confront her, you'll never be able to put the past behind you."

Peter had an inkling that his mentor's moral scales were more heavily tipped in the direction of Claude's general annoyance then Peter's well-being. Nevertheless, he had to be of the same mind. Until he talked to Simone himself, he'd never be able to fully rid his life of her. There'd always be that regret, that plague, itching in an unscratchable part of his soul.

Taking a deep breath, Peter materialized with ease into the visible spectrum. The invisibility he'd mastered; after spending so much time with a unique, one-sided character like Claude, it was no difficulty fishing out his feelings for his mentor. The power he'd had most trouble with was, surprisingly, his own brother. Not since that day at the café had Peter come even close to flying; not even hovering. But even though Nate was kin, it still sort of made sense to Peter. _He's a politician, always has been at heart, _he reminded himself. _Nathan changes personalities as often as he changes ties._

He bluntly announced his entrance. "Simone."

The young woman whipped her head around, taking in the sight for sore eyes in front of her. She exhaled, shaking, and threw her arms around his neck before he could push her away.

"Oh, Peter!" she cried, her long nails poking him though his thick cashmere trench. "Where have you been? I've been going out of my mind…they said you were dead!"

She pulled back, clutching his face in her slender hands. Those green eyes showed real concern, but just because she cared didn't make her loyal. Peter managed to shrug out of her tight grasp and back a couple feet away from her, holding a palm in front of him in warning.

"Shouldn't you be hugging Isaac now? He's your hero now,right?" he asked bitterly. Simone gaped, and for a moment, Peter felt like he had possibly made a false accusation. But the guilt flashed across her face, and a shiver coursed down her frame, confirming Peter's assumptions. Then again, he had solid proof, didn't he? He saw them with his own two eyes, _cuddling_ on the rooftop together. Even if he'd forgotten this incident, he still could not have banished Claude's taunting from his memory.

"Well," Peter sighed. "At least you're not denying it; then you'd be wasting even more of my time."

Simone steeled herself. "I admit, I've gotten closer to Isaac since he's gotten clean, but it's not like that. We're not like…_us_."

_Guess I spoke too soon, _Peter thought flatly.

"Oh, so that little scene you had up here last week was all in the name of…friendliness, huh?" he found himself retorting back, satisfaction at being right over and over again.

He didn't need to be a mutant to have a power over Simone at that moment, and it engulfed his senses in pleasure to see her uncomfortable. His conscience later squirmed at his contentment of verbally sparring another person, but he talked himself out of it. _She deserves this. She. Deserves. ALL of this. _If he couldn't hit a female, gentleman that he was, he could at least guilt-trip the hell out of her.

"Are you spying on me?" Simone's brow furrowed, contorting her delicate features.

"I should reply with 'Are you _cheating _on me?', but you know what?" Peter clapped his hands together once. "I don't care anymore. You're never gonna understand what's happening to me. What I have to do. I've wanted a destiny since the day I was born, and now I've found it. And sorry, but, I'm pretty sure you don't have any role in it."

He turned to walk away, to leave her stung, but surprisingly, she fought to get him to listen. Grabbing his shoulder, she whipped him around, the closeness allowing him to see her eyes glistening.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, rubbing his broad shoulders. "I-I didn't know what happened to you, and Isaac is the only one I have left, and things just started happening…"

Peter sensed that Simone's cool poise could no longer hold itself up, and he gladly took the weakness as an opportunity.

"I've got bigger problems, Simone. An apology doesn't do anything for me right now."

"By bigger problems I assume you mean that you're blowing up New York? Isaac's paintings say so," Simone replied softly, wanting to put their tangled relationship aside for the time being. It was what she thought Peter wanted to talk about, but she was proven incorrect.

"So now you _do _believe he can paint the future?"

"This isn't about him," snapped Simone, regaining her normally icy persona. "It's about you. If you're as dangerous as we all think you are, _including _yourself, then you don't need to be running around missing for a week and a half! You wanna be a hero? Stay with us, we can help you!"

"I have help," replied Peter sardonically. "Besides, Isaac can change the future remember? Isn't that what you told him?"

He knew he was being a complete hypocrite by not letting the subject go, but the contempt was more uncontrollable than his ability to fly. Simone crossed her arms across her chest.

"You're being ridiculous," she rolled her eyes.

"Ridiculous? Yeah, normally, that "Isaac and I are bonded by trauma" excuse _might _be able to cover your ass. But you never loved me, not even in the beginning."

"How can you sa-!"

Peter silenced her. "You've never said it to me, have you? I never really noticed until I got to thinking about it, and that's when it hit me that…every time we parted, I'd tell you that I loved you. _You_ would tell me goodbye. I get it, I was the rebound guy. I knew that much all along, but I didn't care. I thought that maybe it would all work out. I could win a woman for the first time in my life. For once, not losing her to Nathan, or some friend. But I guess I was wrong again," he continued on his rant. "And after thinking…maybe I never loved _you _at all either. I was young back then, I didn't know better."

"What has happened to you?" spat Simone, shaking her head in disbelief. "Who are you and what have you done with Peter? The one that yes, I _did _love."

"Or pitied," murmured Peter before relying to her properly. "I've grown up, Simone," he shrugged, holding his arms wide for her to fully inspect the new, more mature model. "And now I'm ready to save the world. The only thing that you've ever done right for me is getting me that painting so I could go save Claire."

"You used me, then? So how dare you accuse me of doing the same to you! And that day I got you the painting, you promised me that you would come back," she blurted out brokenly.

Peter arched an eyebrow. "I have come back."

"No, you haven't. I don't know what's up with you right now, if this is just a phase, but you left a part of yourself in that coma. You're not the same, and you can't just tell me that you've 'grown up.' Where's the good, caring person I used to know?"

"You don't deserve to see him," Peter said quietly, deciding that the conversation here was done. With one last disdainful look, he materialized into thin air.

"My father would be disappointed in you, Peter," Simone choked out, not sure if he was even there anymore. He heard her, but made no reply. They were the only words she had said to him so far that he could not bring himself to deride.

Simone still felt his presence on the rooftop, and she hastily rushed into the greenhouse and down the interior stairs. Peter leaned thoughtfully against a pigeon cage, as Claude patted him on the shoulder from behind.

"Well done, mate! I didn't know you had that kind of moxy in you!"

Peter sniffed back, sensible mind catching up with his wicked tongue and anger. His whole goal was to put Simone behind him, but it seemed as though he had just brought her back into his life. His Mr. Hyde of sorts had also taken over for the second time that week. He'd never been a rageful man, but this shadow-colored version of himself was becoming disturbingly frequent.

"Go away, Claude," he said bluntly, having the sudden urge to unleash his emotions in a way that Claude would never permit.

"Excuse me? You can't kick me out of my own home!"

"You said yourself that you don't live up here," Peter retaliated coolly. "Now leave me alone."

A stander-by could have sensed a mildly electronic tone to Peter's voice when he repeated his request with more force. To the shock of even Peter himself, Claude stiffened, turned on his heel, and headed towards the door.

Peter frowned slightly at Claude's abrupt obedience. He'd been sure that his need for solitude would be declined by the older man. Petrelli shrugged. Perhaps his natural good charm was starting to affect Claude as well.

_Or former charm_, Peter corrected himself, as that would probably be more fitting to his current state. The crazy thing was, Peter didn't feel himself being possessed by some overwhelming power whenever these bouts of fury came. He was in total control, making every decision, even if some were more reckless then choices in his usual state of mind. He'd not been consumed by shade, but instead his heart was lacking the care it used to harbor for other people. With the forced toughness he had to bear, it would be suicide not to feel any other way. Sensitive men were always the first statues to crumble; glass couldn't hold up next to stone.

Making sure that Claude had indeed left the rooftop, Peter delicately opened one of the pigeon cages. A plump bird in the middle, which Peter secretly called Lewis, hooted first. He would never tell Claude that he had names for all the pigeons. Claude probably couldn't even tell them all apart, let alone give them identities.

The young man removed the cooing bird and held it to his chest, stroking the grey feathers on Lewis's head. He could be gentle with the mindless animal; it had never, and could never do him any wrong. This realization opened his mind to a new understanding about Claude. _People suck, friend. Every last one of them, never forget it._

"_Not all of them," _Peter had replied defensively, thinking of Simone, _sticking up for _her.

Claude scoffed. "_Oh, so there's a girl?"_

"_She's not like the rest of them."_

Peter set Lewis down on the rooftop edge, sighing. Claude had hit the nail on the head, and it had taken him this long to respect the hermit's sensible opinions. In the past, Peter had always just assumed that the old man was bitter at being stuck invisible 24/7…

Of course, Claude _was _still astringent. There was one time, only one, where Claude had actually talked about his past (he'd, obviously, taken a few too many beers out of Peter's fridge that night).

Peter used Claude's invisibility at leisure, but he hadn't stopped and thought about how torturous it must have been for his mentor to wake up every morning totally alone.

Telekinetically floating all the pigeons out of harms way, Peter thought it was safe enough to go about on his frenzy. There would be no power usesage; Peter kicked and punched and yelled at the empty cage with sheer brute force. The birds were instantly frightened by the noise and began to fly off, until Peter was the only thing living up on the rooftop.

This was what Simone was to him. _The Deveaux Building_, he thought bitterly. He could never hurt _her_ with his touch, so this was as close as it was going to get.

The cage would be far from destroyed; Peter couldn't rip apart iron and wood just with his bare hands. Then again, his goal was not to destroy…it was to beat out his resentment until he burned out. Punches turned to full out blows, his fists ripping through the wire mesh, leaving souvenirs all up his arms.

He blocked out all thoughts of Claire and her power from his clouded mind, so his digits bled unchecked. A few minutes in, and his face was sticky with angry tears he hadn't even known were pouring from brooding eyes. After what seemed like an eternity of metal biting into his skin and the hard oak beams bruising his legs, Peter collapsed onto the rooftop.

Breaths came harshly, leaving his body faster then he could take them in. _It's not just Simone_, he amended weakly. _It's Nathan, the deal, Claude, Gabriel, me exploding, Claire's real father, Isaac, saving the world…it's too much for one person…_

_Get up, _his steel core ordered. _You want to be a hero, but if you get washed out from _this_ you'll never make it._

This part of his cerebrum had persuasive powers all its own. Peter didn't even bother to heal himself or catch his breath before standing stiffly and walking in the footsteps of Claude and Simone.

He'd finally grown a backbone (one that was coincidentally indestructible); no longer fearing to speak his mind, express his inner conflicts. Maybe it was too much of Claude's influence, or because his days were numbered.

Whatever the reason, Dr.Jekyll was starting to like it.

**Claire Bennet and Peter**

**Peter's Apartment**

Luckily, Peter reluctantly left Claire home alone, so there'd be no interrogation from someone who wasn't in the loop.

Claire's fiery exclamations would be bad enough.

"Peter, what _happened?_" she cried straight away, standing up from the red loveseat.

Peter slowly closed the door behind him. Barbed wire hooked into his skin, even through his trench coat, and maroon stains of dried blood were splattered across his sleeves and knuckles. Even in the dim light, Claire could still make out the metallic scent of blood and the bruise on Peter's temple.

"Bad day with Claude," he mumbled, hoping that would satisfy her. What was the use? He knew Claire's concerned, and slightly nosy heart would stop him in his tracks until he gave her the full truth.

"No way," Claire shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. "Claude's strict, but he's not sadistic." She strode over to him and took a closer look.

"This is insane, what did you do?!"

"Nothing!" Peter yelled back, ripping his arm out of her grasp, wincing.

"Well, why isn't it healing? I'm here; it should at least be healing now!"

"Because I'm…you wouldn't understand," Peter rolled his eyes, taking off his trench coat carefully and hanging it on the rack.

Before he could head into his bedroom to sulk in self-pity, Claire put both hands on his chest and shoved him into one of his recliners. His eyes widened, stunned at her vigor. She'd never pushed him before, but in the back of his mind, Peter sensed that this was probably for his own good.

"You told me to tell you when you're being a jerk, so I'm telling you," Claire growled, as she began to viciously rip out the shards of cable from his arms. Peter cried out in pain with every slick pull of metal that was torn out of his skin.

It seemed heartless to Peter, but Claire's very present compassion was writhing with what she was doing to him. It really was one of the hardest things she'd done in a long time, to be forceful with him…to make him scream in pain. She took not an ounce of pleasure in it, but Claire knew it was the only way to prove to a broken man that she meant business.

The holes cascading down Peter's limbs sealed up from Claire's presence rather than Peter's will to heal them. The large purple knot on his forehead and long since recovered as well. Within moments, he looked unscathed, but still unstable.

Claire kneeled by him, turning back to her gentle self. "You did this, didn't you? To yourself?"

"No," Peter snapped too quickly. Off Claire's annoyed look, he added, "Not really."

"What, did you run into 'Gabriel' or something?"

"No, nothing like that-,"

"Then what was it?"

"Nothing!"

"It's not nothing!" Claire exclaimed, irritated. "You don't come home looking like you just got hit by a car when it's nothing, Peter!"

Peter saw the concern, frustration, and fear mixed in her eyes and he felt ashamed for being so distant and stubborn. He was all the poor girl had; no wonder she was so scared whenever he got hurt. If something happened to him, Claire would be lonelier than Claude.

He stood up in front of her and wrapped her into a strong embrace. Claire inhaled for a moment, enjoying the feel of his lean muscles cocooning her body.

"I'm sorry," Peter breathed into her hair. "Things have just been really tough for me lately-,"

Claire pulled herself out of his arms. "Yeah, well, you know what? You're not the only one with problems here. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I'd like to remind you that my dad, _my own dad, _has been erasing the minds of my family. My house burnt down, someone's trying to kill me, I've gone through hell and back feeling like a freak because of this power…I still don't know who my real dad is and the only person I _thought _I could trust is starting to crack on me. _Don't do this to me._ I can't handle it, Peter."

Peter didn't even blink for several seconds after Claire's outburst. The only sound in the room was of the ceiling fan, and Claire's heaving chest.

"I…," Peter began, still having no clue what to say. Thankfully, Claire talked for him

"I know I can't relate to what you're going though, but I can understand. Just like you…you can't know what it feels like to be me, but you comprehend it too," whispered Claire. "I know you get me. You're the only person like us that I can talk to, and seeing as Nathan and Isaac aren't on your good side, I'd say I'm the only other special person that _you _can talk to. If you don't tell me, it's gonna build up inside until you explode from it all."

"Don't even joke about that," Peter muttered, reminded of the impending apocalypse. "I get your point though, and I'll tell you what happened."

He kept his promise, going into detail about the conversation with Simone, and all the fury that had been held back all his life blasting its wrath upon the rooftop. When he described how the barbs had gotten caught in his skin, she reached out and squeezed his hand. It was a gesture that Peter had gotten used to, but for some reason, his mind went blank with her touch.

"And then what?" she asked, leaning forward. "After you trashed the cage, what happened?"

"Uh…," Peter stammered. _God her skin is soft_, he thought before he could control himself. Her golden fingers were entwined with his, thumb idly stroking the top of his hand. With every caress of her fingertip, Peter felt his chest growing tighter and his brain losing focus.

_What the hell is wrong with me? _His right mind asked indignantly. _It's just Claire, for God's sake. Just. Claire. The _teenage _girl that you're supposed to be protecting. She doesn't need a boyfriend, she needs a bodyguard. And saving the world is a little bit more important then obsessing over how soft a girl's skin is._

_Even if it's got to be the smoothest skin in the world. Honestly, how does she do it?_

"Peter," Claire's eyes flashed in alarm. "Are you okay?"

Peter looked up at her, right into her olive eyes, which he'd come to regret. _Deep pools of worried green…that natural blonde hair just cascading down her shoulders. There are hardly any natural blondes anymore…_

"Yeah," he lied, halfheartedly wrenching his hand out of her silken grasp and burying his head in his own calloused palms. "I just, uh, had a brain lapse I guess."

"It's getting late," Claire noted, standing up and brushing her now sweaty hands on her jeans. "You're getting hungry, aren't you?"

Peter nodded silently, still not daring to look her in the eyes for fear of more spontaneous, illegal thoughts. _Not illegal, actually, _he reminded himself, recalling something from that useless Harvard law degree. _Seventeen is legal in this state, so it's perfectly lawful-_

_No. No. No. No. It doesn't matter what the law says. She's the cheerleader, you're Peter Petrelli. The world doesn't work that way. Plus, she's _barely _legal, you're twenty-six, and the last the she needs is for her caretaker to make a pass at her. You will never think of her in _That _Way again._

Claire turned to go into the kitchen, but she slowly spun back around.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Peter wondered what he should say to that query.

"Depending on what it's about, yes," he replied carefully.

"It's about the rooftop."

"Yeah, that's fine," Peter breathed in relief.

Claire took a step forward towards him. "You said you were fed up with all this stuff that's happening. Like it's too much, and you couldn't control yourself. You just started hitting things out of the blue."

Peter bobbed his head up in down in agreement to the half-truths he had told her, for her own well-being.

"I want to know…is it gone now? The anger?"

"You're afraid it's going to occur again," stated Peter plainly. Claire nodded.

"I can't promise it won't," Peter admitted. "But I _can _promise you that I would never even think of hurting you. _Ever_."

It was a vow spoken from his heart, rather then…the other regions of his body that had possessed his thought process a while before. His voice did not falter when he made this pledge to her, for he didn't even have to convince himself to keep it. There was no way, even from way back at Homecoming, that Peter could ever lay a hand on her.

"I know," she concurred breezily. Claire flushed in the dark kitchen doorway. She could practically feel Peter's warm smile upon her skin.

And that's when Peter made a mental note of the number one reason why even thinking of crossing the thin line with Claire was forbidden.

_She's the only thing I have left, and it would kill me to scare her away._

**Mohinder Suresh**

**Brooklyn**

For an attorney turned politician, for a man with diploma from Harvard, and for a man with the respect of most of the city…Nathan Petrelli really was an idiot.

Mohinder couldn't believe _he _hadn't noticed it before, but he supposed he had the dim lighting in his apartment to blame. But Nathan, Nathan had no excuse. And even if the shark had a doubt in his mind about what he was supposed to do, he could have just _asked _Peter. After all, the young man was willing!

Nathan's blunder wouldn't cost him an election, like most of them; this little mix-up could destroy New York. All that destruction for a….

Tapping his fingers impatiently on his computer desk, Mohinder waited for Nathan to pick up his cell. After six rings, Mohinder dryly expected elevatoresque hold music to begin. "Nathan Petrelli loves that you are interested in calling him, but he is busy at the moment. Please hold, and don't forget to vote Petrelli!"

But nothing of the such happened. When Mohinder was about to hang up and call Peter, Nathan finally hit "Talk."

"Hello, Doctor Suresh?"

"Yes, Nathan," Mohinder said, trying to contain his irritation.

"Oh, so we're on a first name basis now, are we?"

Mohinder chose to ignore him. "There's something important about the cure that I have to talk to you about."

Nathan sat up in his comfy recliner, holding the phone more delicately in his fingers. "The cure…you found it?"

"No," replied Mohinder bluntly. "Let me ask you something…"

There was a pause, and Nathan listened expectantly for Mohinder to continue.

"Since when is your brother a blonde?"

**Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment**

After dinner, Peter decided to take a long shower to wash off the blood on his skin, as well as the pain of the day. Claire secretly felt a tad lonely for the hour or so she heard the water running. She'd been cooped up totally by herself in this stupid apartment all day, and now was definitely not a good moment for her to have thinking time.

_What was that all about? He's obviously lying about _something. _God, why can't he just tell me the whole truth! _Claire was frustrated, hurt, and exhausted after their second fight in twenty-four hours. _What's the matter with us…we were getting along so well and now we keep fighting like animals…_

Thankfully, "Ain't No Other Man" started playing from her pocket, and Claire immediately recognized it as her neutral ringtone. All her friends had particular ringtones assigned to them, so she knew even before she looked at the Sidekick's screen that it was probably someone she didn't want to talk to.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK.

212-552-1145

There was only one person in New York who had her number: Nathan Petrelli. Being that Claire didn't favor the man much in real life, she definitely didn't want to talk to him on the phone. Why was he calling her anyway? Couldn't he just give Peter a ring on _his _phone? Peter had no home phone-that's why he was unlisted in the phone book, Claire grasped absently- but his own brother certainly would know the cell number, right?

Claire let it go to voicemail, and reminded herself to tell Peter about it later.


	9. Father's Day

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Eight**

"**Father's Day"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side **

Peter had become accustomed to Claude's snark, as well as the older man's tendencies to stop by whenever he felt like it. Hell, maybe it was because Nathan exhibited the same types of behavior. What Peter had yet to experience was both at the same time, with a whopping heap of livid yelling on top of it.

"What the bloody hell did you do to my pigeons!" Claude bellowed, after blowing through Peter's front door.

Claire heard the one-sided yelling from Peter's bedroom, and poked her head out of the door. Peter was pinned up against a wall by his lapels by an invisible force, which Claire knew, from the voices, had to be Claude. Plus, this was a position that he held his pupil in a good 60 of the time. Claire nonchalantly made her way into the living room, yawning and waiting for the men to settle their daily spat.

"They're not _your _pigeons," sighed Peter irritably, "and I let them go so they wouldn't get hurt."

Claire saw Peter relax against the wall, and realized that Claude must have let him down. The front door closed supposedly on its own, and the girl heard footsteps trotting over to the middle of the living room.

"'Ello, dear," he said more gently towards Claire. She smiled, looking nowhere in particular, as not to make herself look stupid trying to find an invisible man.

"So, what," Claude was snapping again, rounding on Peter. "You let the birdies go, but what about the cages? They were unrecognizable!"

Peter looked sheepishly at his feet. "I got upset and it just sorta happened…"

A punch-the third punch in their whole time together, in fact- came from Claude and hit Peter in the jaw so hard that a loud _craaaack _echoed throughout the foyer. Claire slumped lazily into a chair. Normally, she'd be putting her own skin on the line trying to protect Peter from Claude's rawness, but she had taken a new view on things. It was tough love the man needed, after all. She hadn't been afraid to show it last night, and it had ended up bringing him back to reality.

Besides…he _was _indestructible.

"My birds don't have any place to stay, I'm stuck, and your Simone lady's gonna be calling you on the telephone for vandalism," Claude paced the room, shaking his head in disdain.

"Will you stop worrying about the birds?!" cried Peter, waving his arms around, frustrated. "They're _birds_, it's New York, and they'll find a home! And I doubt Simone's going to be calling the police, for a million different reasons. It's not a big deal, the cages were falling apart anyway-,"

Claude cut him off. "Shut your trap, lad. I don't want to hear you anymore until you have something mildly intelligent to say. And no, Emc2, Carl Sagan quotes, and poking at your brother doesn't count."

_Poking at your brother_. _Nathan's call! _Claire's memory was suddenly jogged. She had forgotten to mention Nathan's voicemail to Peter the night before. In her defense, after seeing the nurse swagger out of the shower soaking wet and in nothing but a towel, Claire justly thought that remembering her own _name _would be a strain.

Peter himself had been apprehensive before (back in the beginning, he was so afraid he was going to look like a pervert that he felt uncomfortable even touching Claire on the arm), but now that he and Claire were friends, his sheer manly instinct was to show off, get an inkling of what she thought of his lean, wiry form.

Seriously hoping that Peter hadn't taken a peak inside her less-then-innocent thoughts at that moment, Claire distracted herself with tossing Peter her Sidekick. After booting it up, he found that there was indeed a message from his brother's cell in the voicemail box.

Neither Claire nor Claude could hear what Nathan's message ranted about, but from Peter's constantly shifting expression, it was obviously not what any of them wanted to hear.

"_Hey, Pete. I know this is Claire's phone, but you can't splurge for voicemail, apparently. Will you get yourself an answering machine, already? Honestly. Besides that, Suresh called me today. He's got a little problem with getting the cure worked out. I…well…I stole a hairbrush from the bathroom the day before yesterday, when I visited you. I tried to steal your DNA for the cure, even if you said no. I'm sorry, Peter, it's something I've gotta do. I'll explain more later. For now, I…took home the wrong hairbrush. I think it was that girl you're with, it's hers. Now, Mohinder sill needs your DNA. I'll come by tomorrow to get it. And…remember our deal Peter."_

Peter hung up glumly. "What, has 'goodbye' become overrated, Nate?" he muttered.

"What did the dolt want?" asked Claude, who was investigating a bottle of sparkling wine on Peter's corner wine table.

Her friend made an unhappy noise. "I figured out why your hairbrush is missing. Nathan took it to Suresh, because he thought it was mine. He tried to _steal _my DNA and give it the scientist, so they could start working on a cure. But, obviously, since he grabbed the wrong brush, Mohinder has the wrong DNA, and Nathan's coming back today to get some of mine."

"_Stole _it?" exclaimed Claire incredulously. "Your own brother; who does he think he is?"

"Uh, he _is _Nathan Petrelli, my overly ambitious and selfish asshole of a brother," Peter grumbled. "But I guess I have to give it to him. We have our deal and all."

Claude's ears perked up from the alcohol that was distracting him. "Deal? Cure? What did I miss?"

Peter explained in the shortest way possible about the deal that he'd made with Nathan: his power for Claire to meet her real father, Lewis Rushton. Claude nearly dropped the wine.

"Your powers? You can't give up your powers!"

"I have to," replied Peter bluntly. "It could be just as well. With me powerless, New York could be saved."

Claire loathed talking about this. The past couple days, she had been content to keep the deal, and the upcoming apocalypse on the backburner of her mind. She'd never lived in the moment so much in all her seventeen years. Now, she was involuntarily reminded that Peter was coming close to his death, he'd be losing his powers soon, and she may or may not get to se her real father.

For some reason, Lewis Rushton barely seemed important anymore. The whole world had revolved around Claire finding the man, but her search had been halted with a big stop sign and a smack in the face. What if Nathan was just leading Peter on, trying to get his little brother to take the cure on good faith, when there was nothing but lies behind the fake alligator smile?

"But what if it's not you that explodes? What if it's Gabriel, or some other guy? What if it's an actual bomb? They'll need all of your powers to stop it!"

Peter was momentarily stunned at the care that Claude had been masking for their impending situation. It lifted his spirits a bit; the hermit wasn't so stoic after all.

"Claire's father," Peter groaned. "It's important to her; I promised her we'd find him." He found that his breathing was more constrained, and it was harder from him to talk. Whether it was fatigue or two metahumans with him in the room at the same time, it wasn't making him feel pleasant at all. The oddest thing was, it was like he could _sense _them there. Closing his eyes, Peter still could feel exactly where Claude and Claire were standing. He could saw a sort of glow coming about their general shapes in his insightful mind.

"It's not that important anymore," announced Claire, standing up from the clothed chair and walking over to him. "It's not meaningless, but it's not worth what you'd have to do. You _need _you powers. _We _need them."

"And did you ever stop to think that maybe your bro's just tossing you bread crumbs, and leadin' you to the gingerbread house, only to cook you up and stab you in the back?" Claude pointed out, saying exactly what Claire was thinking.

"If that was some long way of saying that Nathan's lying to me, then no," Peter said crossly. "He's family; he wouldn't do that to me."

"Coming from he who just said that the man was a selfish arsehole," Claude sighed.

"I know what he is," snapped Peter tiredly, "but that doesn't make him a traitor. This is big, he'd never betray me. Take away my powers? He _knows _I've always wanted them, why would he…"

Even Claire could tell that Peter was simply trying to convince himself that it couldn't be so. That the older brother he'd looked up to all his life could never turn Judas on him. Never use the cure as venom.

**Isaac Mendez and Matt Parkman**

**215 Reed Street, SoHo**

Nine times out of ten, Isaac hated to see a cop walk through his doors. The former heroin addict shivered just thinking about all the close calls he'd had with the authorities. The only way he'd been able to stash away his supplies was because of his paintings; warnings that told him not a second too soon about the police officers in the elevator.

This one was different though. According to Officer Parkman, or just Matt, as he liked to be called, the mysterious Bennet had become an ally. His story seemed oddly similar to Isaac's own account: a kidnap, the man with the horn-rimmed glasses, the paper company that was anything but, and of course, the duel hatch marks on both mens' necks. Isaac had a much more pleasant experience than Matt (who had spent the whole time strapped to a table in a very blue room), but both the artist and the officer had winded up working for Bennet. Isaac had been given orders to find Peter for some unknown reason, and Matt tagged along on the road with the bespectacled man, hot on the trail of Sylar.

"One day, our plan backfired," Matt explained grimly, while checking out some of Isaac's arts. "We were too close to Sylar. He found us, he kidnapped Bennet, and he got away."

"Where is he now?" said Isaac, brushing back his long hair with his chiseled fingers.

"I dunno. I thought you could help me locate him. Bennet said that if anything happened, I was to come to Manhattan and see you."

Isaac exhaled, rifling through some of his canvases to see if anything resembled his collaborator. Yet most of them were just of New York cityscapes, emptiness, or perhaps the famous cheerleader that Peter had saved at Homecoming.

"I'm sorry," proclaimed Isaac in his slight Brazilian accent. "But I have nothing here that can help you."

Matt sat in a paint splattered chair, defeated, until a small painting on the other side of the room caught his eye.

"Hey…what's this?"

Isaac shrugged. "I think it's the cheerleader. Eden said her name was Claire."

Matt had no clue who Eden was, but the name Claire struck a chord. "Claire Bennet? That's Bennet's daughter, and yeah…she _was _the cheerleader. And then Peter Petrelli…"

He gently took down the hanging canvas and set it in front of himself and Isaac.

"I need to talk to her," breathed Matt. "Tell her about her dad. She might know something, where he'd go. She might be like us. And if that's the case, then we need to keep her safe."

Mendez took a closer peek at his work. "This is somewhere here in New York. I've been searching for Peter, but she might have come up on my…radar."

"Peter? You know him?"

Matt tried to listen to Isaac's thoughts, but it was all in Portuguese. _Weird_, thought Matt. _I never really considered that before. I guess this power doesn't come with a translator._

"Slightly. We met through someone else. He's been missing though. Bennet told me to find him."

"So it looks like Claire's in New York, and Peter's profile said he was from around here too," Matt deduced. "She's gotta be crashing with him. He saved her life; she could put her trust into him. The only thing I don't get is why she ran away in the first place."

"Maybe she just wanted to see Peter," smirked Isaac slightly, sensing some possible hero-worship.

"She definitely wanted to see him at the jail," Matt agreed. "That confirms it; she _has _to have an ability. I know he does, he could read minds like me."

Isaac's young face was slashed with frown lines. "Read minds? No, he could do what I could do."

"Claire and Peter were both scratchless, yet their blood was everywhere," mused Matt, stroking the stubble that was starting to appear after several frantic days of neglect.

"Peter died at Homecoming," said Isaac, catching Matt's wavelength. "I painted it, and the cheerleader dying too. How are they both still alive? All of my paintings have come true."

"Healing," whispered Matt. "Peter fell off a ledge, according to Claire. That was a five story fall, and he landed…he must have died but…he did what _she _could do!"

"I have Peter's cell phone number," declared Isaac rushing around his studio, trying to find the slip of paper he had scribbled it on. "You need to call him right away, ask about the girl."

Right as Isaac plucked the sticky note off the wall that was his "address book," his home phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mistah Eesack?!" cried a thick Japanese accent.

"Hiro? Yes it's me."

"Ando and I have the sword!" Hiro told him excitedly. "We had help from Ando's stripper girlfriend. She throws men into wall like they are nothing!"

"Fantastic," beamed Isaac genuinely. "Teleport here, okay?"

"Well," Hiro said apprehensively. "I tink it be safer to take plane. Every time I teleport-o, I end up in another time, or another country. Sometimes both."

"Can you get a flight to arrive today?"

"I tink so. Stripper Girlfriend has money. She said she buy tickets for us. First class!"

"Great. Call me when you get in and take a taxi to the studio."

"Byei-byei Mistah Eesack!"

"Goodbye, Hiro."

Matt took the yellow scrap that Isaac handed him, as well as the phone (which he noticed was covered in paint like most things in the apartment). Taking a deep breath, he plunged himself back into Peter Petrelli's life.

**Peter, Claude, and Claire**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side **

It couldn't have been clearer then a sunny day that Nathan would force feed the cure down Peter's throat, but Peter was still in absolute denial. Claire wished she could have seen the look on Claude's face, from his exasperated huffs.

"Listen, your mate's not gonna find anything about Claire's dad, anyway."

Peter's brow knitted. "Why not? Nathan's got connections; he could find anyone. He could find anyone's _tombstone_."

Claude rubbed his eyes. "He's not to be found, by any of them at least. It's impossible. Lewis Rushton cannot be hunted. If you don't get info from the kiosk that is yours truly, you'll never get any answers."

"Well tell us!" Peter blurted out angrily. "Where can _I _find him, why'd he leave Claire, where is he?"

Even Claire could hear Claude's thick swallowing.

"You already have found him, mate."

Peter and Claire both had the same gut feeling as to where this was going. Claire closed her eyes, waiting for the words to wash over her like a sudden downpour.

"My name has never been Claude Raines. It's Lewis Rushton. I'm Claire's father."

Even with the anticipation, even with the predicted knowledge, Peter still couldn't help but stare at Claude, shaking his head in disbelief. What was Claude to say about _his _family, when the man himself abandoned his own daughter?

On the other hand, he could be lying altogether.

"No," began Peter. "You're lying. You're just saying that so I'll break the deal with Nathan and you can get your way."

Claire gave Claude, or Lewis, really, the benefit of the doubt, and began firing questions about her mother. It was half-initiation, half-desperation, and Claude was about to bring the roof of Peter's theories straight down.

"Your mum is a fire starter," reminisced Claude. Claire's feet couldn't support her anymore, and she fell into a nearby chair, a couple feet away from Peter. Peter felt it as an appropriate time for Claire to be able to actually see her father, so he lightly touched his roommate's wrist. Claude materialized into Claire's vision.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Claire said softly with discontent in her tone. "Why have you just been acting like some homeless thief? What _happened to you_?"

Claude scoffed. "You think I'd make a nice ol' Daddy-O? I haven't got anything to give you, nothing to provide you with. And I'm invisible, Claire! I can't exactly take you shopping for prom when you can't see me, now can I?"

"I wasn't asking for a shopping buddy, I was asking for answers," sniffed Claire.

Peter was still hearing this whole conversation hollowly, as though his ears were clogged. Sensing Claire's anguish, he gripped her shoulder with his free hand.

Claude began explaining the whole story of how he came to be invisible, ended up with Meredith, and worked at Primatech Paper with Claire's foster father. Apparently, Meredith had been his first pupil, a woman he kept in hiding from the notorious Company. Eventually, they broke the unwritten teacher-student romance rules, and bam! Little Claire was on the way. But then the Company had found out about Claude's secret student, shooting him (and assuming he died from it), and going in to Meredith's apartment to take her and her baby away. The injuries had left Claude permanently invisible, and he used his gift for his last honorable deed: to get Claire out of the burning building and setting her out of harms way.

"You didn't take me? You just left me?" Claire was not crying, however. She was used to being hurt by now.

"I'm so sorry, dear. But look at me; I'm invisible, I couldn't take you, and I thought Meredith would come out of the building and pick you up. I had no idea Primatech had gone there to bag her."

Claire seemed to mull over his story for a few seconds, absorbing it all as fact. She looked up at Claude.

"Come here."

Slowly, Claude approached Peter and Claire until he stood a foot and a half in front of them. In a flash, Claire had gone from Peter's wrist, to Claude's embrace.

"I should have tried harder, I know, love," he choked into her hair. "But there was no way, and I thought you were safe…"

Peter watched on, slender hand resting across his mouth as it often did. His insides tightened and he promised himself he wouldn't get sensitive about the father/daughter moment, yet he was finding it hard to push off pure elation. These past couple days had made him feel cold, his heart hardened and an unexplainable numbness consuming him. This moment was opening his eyes, allowing him to finally _feel _again.

Claire was studying his jubilant expression. "You look happy," she commented. "It's about time."

Peter beamed back, and winked, making Claude's eyebrows shoot skyward. He coughed suggestively and shot Peter a murderous look, before settling his eye line on Claire in a protective gaze.

Feeling his cheeks redden, Peter looked away just in time to see a bright light flashing on his silenced cell phone. Reaching over and looking at the caller ID, he groaned.

MENDEZ, ISAAC.

So much for his happy mood.


	10. Serious as a Heart Attack

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Nine**

"**Serious As A Heart Attack"**

**Peter Petrelli, Claude Raines, and Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

Though Isaac Mendez was on the same side as Peter, he was still the last person that Peter desired to talk to. So with a carefree flick of his hand, Peter telekinetically slid his cell phone back to the end table.

"Now you're just getting lazy," Claude grumbled. Peter shrugged apathetically, his burst of euphoria slipping into sullenness after the mood breaking call.

He hardly noticed the quick hug and kiss on the cheek that Claude gave Claire before the invisible man made his way to the door.

"Well, I'm off to steal some supper. I'll be back tomorrow though, for Lassie."

Peter frowned and looked at his watch. "Supper? It's ten in the morning."

Claude snorted. "Says who? Not like anyone's gonna notice if _I _gain a few pounds."

Claire giggled lightly as Peter gave up. "Goodbye, Claude."

Before Claude shut the front door, he poked his head back though, shooting Peter a serious look.

"And mate? If you ever look at my daughter like you want to throw her against a wall and snog her ever, ever, again…I'll kill you. G'day."

Claire grinned, for whenever Claude made a line like that, there were two options: cower in embarrassment or laugh along. Peter, on the other hand, was doing most of the cringing, burying his red face in his hands.

_Is it that obvious? _he groaned internally. _Nathan was right. I need to see a doctor. Get some drugs. Cause' this is getting out of control._

His discomfort was obvious to Claire, making her grin droop. Peter was an easy guy to embarrass, she had discovered, especially by a witty tongue like Claude. But a comment like that had been meant in jest, while Peter looked as though he'd been caught red-handed. And as usual, he covered up his mortifications by sulking.

Slumping into a chair as far away from Claire as possible, Peter hugged his knees to his chest tiredly. Claire saw his cell phone blinking again. Nathan's phone number flashed on the caller ID and she set the phone on Peter's armrest.

"It's Nathan," she said nonchalantly, "probably telling us that he's coming over."

Peter groaned. "Turn it off; I'm sick of people calling me."

"You should answer it," Claire suggested slowly, even though her thumb was switching the cell phone off. "Call off the deal. You don't need it anymore. Claude finally came out and told us who he is so Nathan's side of the offer would be worthless. He did something nice for you; you should at least do what he wanted."

The bottom half of Peter's face was buried in his knees and Claire heard a muffled noise coming out from him. "So what, are you all of a sudden on his side now that he's your dad?"

Claire stood. "It's not like that. I think he's right because he's _right._"

"Why are we even worrying?" Peter muttered more loudly, looking up at her. "It's not like Nathan's gonna do anything. He can't hurt me; he can't…._force _me to give up my powers."

"You're so stubborn, you know that?!" yelled Claire, digging her hands into her hair. Peter jumped at her outburst, blinking at her bewilderedly.

Claire continued to rant at him. "I'm sick of it! I'm sick of _this_! Why do you keep fighting with me, Peter? You have to disagree with everything I say, everything Claude says, everything _anyone _says! You think you're this genius martyr just because you're meant to save to world, and destroy it at the same time. Why can't you just keep your promises, and stop lying to me? I mean, what's _going on _with you? I want to help you, but you keep shutting me out. We were getting along great, then one day you come home and you're this bad version of yourself that I don't even _know, _and sometimes I feel like you don't even want me to be here. Geez, just…what do you _want, _Peter?"

Peter, standing up to his full height, towered over Claire herself. The teenager stared back confidently.

"I don't know what's happening either," said Peter frankly, "and I don't know what I want. Should I give up my powers to stop from exploding or should I _use them _to save the world? But I _do_ want you here. I _love _having you here; it's the only thing keeping me level-headed right now. If you weren't here, I dunno what would happen. You're the only one that can diffuse me," Peter arched an eyebrow. Claire insides squirmed at his wording and Peter noticed her heart melt behind her green eyes.

"Why me?" she whispered.

Peter made a noncommittal noise. "Why anybody? Hiro Nakamura told me to save you. To be to one we need. It doesn't make any sense, but we've just got to trust it. Hiro didn't mention anything about me being the bomb, but maybe that's why he told _me _to save you. If you're alive, you can stop the bomb. If you're alive…you can stop _me._"

"That _still _doesn't make sense," Claire replied desperately. "I'm a girl who can grow back her skin. How can I stop a bomb?"

Peter sighed and sat back down on the couch. "I'm not a crystal ball, Claire," he said tiredly. "Worst case scenario…we'll find out on November 8th."

**Matt Parkman and Isaac Mendez**

**Isaac's Loft, New York City**

"No luck?" confirmed Isaac dryly, watching Matt flip his own cell phone shut.

"Nah, it didn't even ring. Just went straight to voicemail."

Isaac frowned. "I thought he would answer if I wasn't on the caller ID." Matt snorted.

"Looks like he doesn't want to be bothered by anyone," the cop responded, grabbing his light denim overcoat that was dangling from one of Isaac's easels. He walked back to the painter boldly.

"But," Matt began. "He's just gonna have to deal with a knock on his door, because this is urgent. Write down his address for me, will ya?"

Isaac complied, ripping a scrap page out of his sketchpad with all of Peter's contact information on it.

"It's about a mile away," he added as Matt was trooping up the small flight of steps to Isaac's front door. "You should probably walk. Getting a taxi is impossible, even at this hour."

"Thanks," Matt nodded his head tersely before pocketing the stiff paper and heading through the glass paned entrance. He chose to pursue Isaac's advice to walk (_Could use the exercise anyway, _he thought, absently patting his round torso), and luckily, the street signs were clearly marked in this part of town. It wasn't difficult to find Canal Street, and from there, it was a straight shot to Peter's apartment.

The building itself was slightly grimy, in a vintage sort of way. Matt imagined how New York City probably looked fifty years before, full of lavish structures such as this. This rusty, tarnished, stone apartment complex had been the prime of this street at one point. Now, it was nothing but a faded glory.

On the contrary, the sleek ebony Lincoln that pulled up at the meter nearest to Matt was anything but flawed. Parkman blinked a couple times, wondering if he'd ever be able to afford something like that on a traffic worker's pay. The heavyset man inattentively chuckled to himself. He could barely afford to dream.

A thin man of average height, maybe 5'9" or 5'10" at most, coolly slid out of the backseat of the car. _My God, the man's even got a servant to open the _door _for him, _tittered Matt, shaking his head with in amusement. He shouldered his way through the entrance door, the classy man not far behind.

_What's the Clinton-wannabee in a place like this for? _Matt thought, now shiftily hastening his pace to the elevator. _An affair, that's it. Guys like that are always around in grubby hotel rooms and stuff. _

Matt had never considered a superpower to make the elevator work, but this one time, it could've been put to good use. Groaning internally as Mr. Posh Spice appeared next to him, both waiting around silently for the building's only elevator, Matt seriously considered taking the stairs. _That would break your back, you idiot. You just walked a mile! Just don't make eye contact. _

It wasn't that he despised this stranger. Matt was a lovable and rather compassionate guy. But men like this were everything that Matt wasn't: a success. Women were proud to call them their husbands. They were providers, not failures. Overcoming dyslexia was like a puzzle for two-year olds for these men. Why did they have to get it all? Nothing could come to Matt every once in a while? _I'm losing my mind, my marriage, my wife's pregnant, and I'm pretty much out of a job. Christ, I need to get my act together or…_

…_Heidi's gonna leave me, I'm sure of it. _

Matt reeled for a spilt second before regaining his stiff footing. He dared to take a small look at the gentleman beside him, the same gentleman whose thoughts he was sure he'd just read. After all, he didn't know anyone named Heidi. Was this the man's wife? And she was going to leave him?

The sides of Matt's lips twitched into a small smile as a wave of empathy connected him to the stranger. _Women, right, man? _

_Heidi…election…Monty, Simon, kids….Heidi…Peter…Mom…Peter…Heidi..election..win…congress…_

Peter? No way.

The elevator finally decided to grace Matt and Nathan with its presence, and they stepped inside together. Matt reached for the "14" button at the same time as the other man. Nathan smiled fakely, stepping back.

"Looks like we're off to the same place then," he said, clearly making small talk.

"Same apartment, maybe?" inquired Matt.

Nathan was still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I doubt that."

"You're not going to 1407?" Matt asked innocently. "Peter Petrelli?"

Nathan's politician smile dropped like a watermelon off the Empire State Building. "Why are _you_ going to pay my brother a visit?" He was trying to keep his voice even, but Matt sensed animosity underneath.

"I'll show mine if you show yours."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Trust me," snorted Matt. "There've been things I've seen that I _still _don't believe and I saw them with my own two eyes. At this point, I'm up for anything."

Nathan took a deep breath. "There's this evolution bug going around, and we need Peter for the cure."

Matt scratched the back of his neck. "Evolution bug?"

Rubbing his forehead impatiently, Nathan muttered. "It's giving people abilities. Unnatural abilities, like being able to bend spoons with your mind-,"

"Or being able to read other people's thoughts?"

"Yeah, like that."

Now Matt was intrigued. A cure? He could actually fix this, this _thing _that was happening to him. But what did Peter Petrelli have to do with creating it? Matt recalled the young man's background records. He was a hospice nurse, about six months out of college; hair as black as it could probably come…dark, piercing eyes…bangs that he kept swiping out of his face in the interrogation room…and this odd sort of innocence around him that was broken in desperation.

"_You're not protecting her!"_

"_Why would you know who he wanted?"_

"_You wanna catch this guy? You need to find her, you need to protect her!" _

Petrelli had seemed timid and frantic until the moment Claire Bennet came up into the conversation. Matt remembered something either snapping or igniting past Peter's warm eyes, and a fierce determination to protect a girl he didn't know was all Peter seemed to channel.

By the time Matt's thoughts were broken, he and Nathan were no longer facing the doors of the elevator, but a green wall of dingy chipped paint.

"Well…this way," gestured Nathan awkwardly, stepping out of the compartment and taking a right down the hallway he'd been in a hundred times. Matt followed suit, though several feet behind the candidate for congress.

1407. Nathan raised his finger to the doorbell.

**Peter and Claire**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

"There's someone at the door."

Peter barely heard himself murmuring this, frowning dazedly, opening his eyes and perking up his head. For the past few minutes, he'd been overcome with fatigue. The reason why was indefinite; it was only ten-thirty and he'd gotten plenty of sleep. Ever since Claude had arrived, though, Peter felt stretched out, thin, and for some reason, touch-sensitive. Claire could be a whole four feet away and he could _feel _her as if she was wrapped in one of his iron embraces. Her body heat, the smoothness of her skin, and the energy of her power flowing out from her body, being absorbed into his own. Not that this was necessary. Peter already had Claire burned into his DNA, along with Claude, Nathan, and so many others. Yet, his power naturally soaked up any abilities within the proximity.

"You must be hearing things," Claire replied, poking her head out of the bathroom. She'd hastily excused herself after their skirmish, making up some lame explanation about needing to brush her teeth. Peter was too exhausted to protest, and his head hit the pillow before Claire turned on the faucet.

"I didn't hear it." Peter sat up straighter. "I…trust me; I think there's someone at the door."

As if on cue, the doorbell buzzed shrilly and Claire's eyes widened in Peter's direction.

"How'd you know that?"

Peter hesitated. "I just felt it. Or them…I think it's two people."

_Buzz-buzz-buzz._

Claire looked at the chipped green door uncertainly. "Should I answer it?" she asked slowly.

Peter stood up wordlessly, walking over to the entrance for her. Without looking through the peephole, he grabbed the doorknob and turned it. Congressman-to-be Nathan Petrelli was standing a foot in front of him.

"You haven't been answering your cell phone," Nathan said coolly, inviting himself in.

"Good Morning, dear brother," replied Peter sardonically, about to close the door, when another figure appeared in front of him.

"Wait," Peter frowned, "You're that cop, Matt Parkman. The guy who read my mind."

Claire immediately rushed to them, creating a barrier between Peter and Matt.

"Ted isn't with you, is he?" she fired frantically. Matt looked upon her, confused.

"No, he's out in California somewhere. We didn't take him with us, because we were afraid Sylar could get a hold of him."

Peter gently moved Claire out of the way so Matt could enter the apartment as well. When he finally closed the door, it was like cutting off the oxygen tank to the entire room. Peter's head was spinning as he became dizzily aware of the three warm bodies near to his own. Not letting anyone on to his lethargy, he took a deep breath, sat down, and tried to block out his latest sixth sense.

Nathan looked stiffly around at the current company before beckoning Peter up. The younger brother groaned internally. _I just sat down, Nate…_

"Could you excuse us, please?" Nathan told Matt and Claire, a little too impatient to be fully gracious.

The mind reader and the cheerleader granted Nathan's request silently, stepping into the bedroom to continue their conversation.

"Who's Sylar?" Claire asked Parkman. "Is he...

"The man that killed Jackie?" Matt finished her sentence. "Yeah, he's been cutting out the brains of people all over the country. James Walker, this woman in Montana named Dale Smither...God only knows what he does with them, but I do know he someone takes their powers from it. At least that's what your dad told me."

_People want what you have and will hurt you to get it, _Claire recalled her father telling her the night of homecoming.

"We were chasing him down, your dad and I," continued Matt. "We followed the trail of victims-,"

"Which wasn't helping them much," Claire pointed out.

Matt snorted. "I know, but it's the only way _we_ could track him. The Company put a tracker in Sylar, but the system is here in New York."

Claire vacillated. "Why were you after him in the first place?"

"To stop him before he found you. It's your dad's mission," Matt explained kindly. "I'm just along to help him. My wife's having a baby, so I know what it's like to want to protect your family…"

There was a question that had been burning in the back of Claire's mind ever since Matt showed up, alone. Every fiber of her being wanted to know, but somehow, she already knew the answer was grim.

Matt heard her emotional thoughts and put a soothing hand on her shoulder. "You dad's gonna be alright."

"Going to be alright? What happened to him?" Claire's eyes darted back and forth fearfully. Her father had torn their family apart, lied to her, and hurt Sandra, but for the past seventeen years, he was still her dad. The same dad that read her stories before bedtime, sat by her when she was sick, brought her teddy bears from all over the world. She could never wish real harm to him, and now that he was in danger, she realized how much she still did care about him.

Matt opened his mouth to answer, but a shout from Peter and the sound of broken glass diverted his attention to the Petrelli brothers in the next room.

As Matt and Claire were having their endearing chat, Nathan and Peter were carrying on a more heated conversation of their own.

After the two other guests left the room, Nathan turned to Peter, resting his hands on his hips.

"You know why I'm here."

"To collect my DNA," Peter answered emotionlessly. "But I'm not giving it up, Nathan, okay?"

Nathan stared. "Whadaya mean you're not giving it up?" There was force in the lawyer's voice now that he was trying not to turn into anger. "We had a deal, remember?"

Peter walked over to him, putting his hands on Nathan's shoulders. "It doesn't matter now. We found him, Lewis Rushton. We found Claire's father."

Nathan shrugged off Peter's hands, stepping back and rubbing his forehead dumbfounded.

"Found him? You've got to be kidding me; I've had the best private eyes in the state looking for the guy. Every database, every archive, I've come up empty. How could _you _find him?"

"It's hard to explain, but now that we know…there's no way you ever could have found him."

"So you wasted my time and money on some wild goose chase?" Nathan was raising his voice now, scowling across at his little brother.

"We didn't know that at the time! I honestly thought you could help us. But it's over now, so…deal's off," Peter bit back defensively.

"The deal is _not _off!" Nathan snapped back. "You've got an obligation. You wanna save the world? Help with the cure, Peter. Do you know how many people out there don't want these powers? How they can be harmful, deadly?"

"You just want it for yourself!" cried Peter shoving Nathan back more harshly then he'd intended, causing Matt and Claire to whip their heads around and rush into the room.

Nathan had gone careening into an end table, hitting just hard enough to knock over the ceramic lamp that was resting upon it. Luckily, he'd come out of the fall without injury, but Peter's sudden outburst was enough to spook him.

"Now calm down, Pete," Nathan panted, raising up a palm in his brother's direction.

"No, I can't be _calm_," retorted Peter. "Look what you're trying to do! You're trying to _force_ me to take this thing. God, I thought I could trust you, but they were all right. You're just a selfish son of a bitch that-,"

Nathan's fist came out of nowhere, too fast for Peter to block with any of his powers. The only thing he had on his side was pure instinct, animal instinct to fight back with all the force he could muster. Claire's shrieks and Matt's loud yells could be heard on the outer walls of his tunnel hearing. The only trick was that Peter was still weakened by exhaustion, and for all his wiry strength, he was still fighting a losing battle.

Nathan had never hit his little brother before. Even when they were children, he was always the protector of Peter, more like a father figure. Oh, Nathan could yell like a hurricane when needed too, but callous words were all it took to make Peter's sensitive heart blatant in the red color of his ashamed face. These days, though, Peter had an iceberg for a heart it seemed. Hesitation to physically snap his brother out of it was not an option anymore for Nathan.

Peter used ever cell in his body to give as tough as he was getting, which managed to keep Nathan at bay for a few seconds. Soon enough, though, Matt's thick hands had each of the men by the shoulder, pulling their feud apart.

It was the first moment where Peter's powers show up, where they appeared to be weaved into his very soul. With a simple glare, he tapped into his telekinesis to send Matt and Nathan flying back in different directions. Claire screamed and ducked behind a chair, Nathan hitting the wall beside her with a loud thud. For all his faults, Claire's heart still pounded in worry for him. Once he had hit, he'd fallen limp at Claire's knees.

"Nathan," she gasped, clutching Peter's brother's face and checking for blood on his forehead. _He'll live, but his head's gonna hurt like hell when he wakes up_.

A loud, choked, groan broke her out of her caretaking of Nathan. Matt had not been knocked out, and in this case, it made him the unluckier of Peter's two opponents. Claire's friend, hero, and confidant was standing three feet in front of Matt, his arm outstretched and his fist clutched so tightly that his fingernails were making welts on his palms. Meanwhile, Matt was gasping and clutching his chest, twitching all over. With a start, Claire realized exactly what Peter was doing to the poor officer.

He was stopping Matt's heart with his mind.

Claire didn't have time to wonder how this was even possible. If nothing happened within the next ten seconds or so, Matt would be a goner.

"Peter!" Claire screeched at the top of her lungs, quickly standing up from Nathan's unconscious form. But Peter was past the point of no return, and all he did was hasten Matt's death.

If he wasn't going to listen to her, there was only one thing to do. It pained Claire to the core, but this was a life or death situation. Her emerald eyes did a quick scan of the room for blunt objects, and she thankfully found a large bottle of red wine in the corner of the room. Peter was too in the zone to see the small blonde yank the bottle off of the triangle shaped table, creep up behind him, and raise the wine menacingly before smashing it down onto his skull.

Peter fell to the floor, half-awake and half-dazed. "Claire?" he gasped, inaudible to everyone, as he saw the girl step over his body and help Matt off the floor.

"Are you okay?" she gasped hurriedly, unaware of the concerned hand she was pressing against Matt's chest. He grunted back, taking a few, painful breaths before wheezing back.

"We've gotta get you out of here, Claire. It's dangerous."

"But I-," she began, ready to protest, when she looked down at Peter's limp body. What had he just done? If she hadn't intervened, Matt would have been dead. And what about Nathan? Would Peter have just moved on to that kill next? And after _that_…what would happen to Claire? How much blood was Peter willing to have on his hands, or would it take a death to steer him back to the light?

The man she had run to protect her was no longer safe. Surely, he'd never hurt Claire intentionally, but accidents could happen. She wasn't even sure if _she _could survive an artificial heart attack, when there was nothing to regenerate, really.

"Hold on," she decided after a few seconds thought. "Let me get a couple things."

Abandoning her clothes, luggage, most everything, for Peter would be fully awake any minute now; Claire simply grabbed a key, her cell, and some money before meeting Matt back in the living room. He really should have gone to bed then and there, and stayed there for a week to recover, but there was too much urgency to get away from Peter Petrelli as fast as possible.

"Let's go," he breathed, holding the door open for Claire to exit the former haven.

Right before she took a step towards the outer hallway, Claire craned her head back around to gaze at Peter. Matt watched her swiftly swoop down to her knees, kiss Peter soothingly on the cheek, and lean back up.

"I know my hero's still in there," was her tormented whisper in Peter's ear. With one last brush of her lips to his temple, she got up on her feet and followed Matt through the divide of warm lighted purity and blue-tinted evil.


	11. Forgive Me Father

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Ten**

"**Forgive Me Father…"**

**Matt Parkman and Claire Bennet**

**New York Streets, Lower East Side**

Matt hailed a taxi easier then he'd expected, and within minutes of leaving Peter's apartment, both he and Claire were on their way to Isaac's. Having been interrupted by the brawling Petrelli brothers, Matt never got the chance to explain to Claire what had happened to Mr.Bennet. Judging by her firestorm of clouded and emotional thoughts at the moment, he decided that it could wait.

They sat in the back of the yellow cab in mournful silence, and Matt gave Claire privacy in her feelings. In turn, she did the same, not bothering him about how often he winced and clutched his chest on the ride there. Whatever Peter had done was still having after effects on Matt. Though he'd come out of it okay, the next couple days would be full of wincing and Bayer.

A few lonely tears made their way down Claire's sun-kissed cheeks, and she wiped them away crossly. No. She cried much too often. No more crying, she had to be strong. She was alone now, no one to protect her, and she had to toughen up.

Out of all the people in the world, she never suspected that it would be _Peter _that would abandon her. Technically, she was the one who fled the apartment and left without telling him where she was going…but had it not been for his sudden recklessness and pure sin, she wouldn't have had to. He was no longer Peter, her Peter, her hero. He was a hollow, broken snakeskin. A shell of himself. The only thing living inside was the malice that had been building in his heart for the last twenty-six years.

Claire remembered wondering what he did with all of his angry feelings, or if he was prone to them at all. God, why had she kept this muse to herself? Why hadn't she tried to help him more, rather then scold him into surrender? There were so many opportunities. She hadn't tried hard enough to get him to open up to her. Sure, he'd push her away, but true friends ignore the comrade's wants, for their companion's needs instead. Peter needed a loving hand to pull him out of the sticky tar pit he was sinking into. All Claire had done was stand by the sidelines and yell at him to save himself.

_You're the only thing keeping me level-headed right now, _he'd told her, barely half an hour ago. What a lie. Or perhaps not a lie…but something he was saying to talk himself into it. To convince himself that as long as Claire was around, he could control himself. Clearly, he didn't find himself particularly persuasive.

Normally, Matt would have soothingly asked Claire if she wanted to talk about it, but reading her mind exposited that no, she _actually _didn't. Instead, he simply placed a consoling hand on her shoulder and she did not shrug away. _Poor girl. First her dad, now her hero. I'm _really _gonna hate telling her about where Bennet is…_

**The Petrelli Brothers**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

_I know my hero's still in there_….

Peter saw everything in slow motion. Claire grabbing her things, before kneeling down and kissing his cheek and forehead, choking out her goodbye. The brush of her lips on his skin numbed his entire body even more, making it impossible to reach out and stop her, call her name, anything that would halt her from leaving him. As soon as he saw Claire and Parkman walk out that door, he gave up the fight, and let himself slip away into black.

When he finally reawakened, he felt more refreshed then one probably should after being clubbed on the head with a glass bottle. Peter probably had his empathetic mimicry and Claire's spontaneous cellular regeneration to thank for that. Sitting up, he saw the irony in the whole situation. Here he sat, after being knocked out and beat up, and he felt ten times less tired then before Matt and Nathan arrived.

But…he did feel emptier. Something was missing. Or someone. Or…two someones? Peter's senses felt short-circuited and dead, with dual benefactors yanked out of his closeness at the same time.

The young empath spotted motionless legs sticking out from behind a couch. There had been three people with him, not two. And since Matt and Claire had left, there was only one person it could be.

"Nathan?" Peter husked, his throat parched. He crawled over to the thin body, and it was indeed his older brother. Nathan was still unconscious from slamming into the wall, but Peter thankfully observed no blood on his sibling's crown.

"Nathan," he gasped, lightly shaking his brother by the shoulders. "C'mon, Nathan. Nathan, wake up."

The politician's eyelids fluttered open, and the first thing he did was grab the back of his head in pain, groaning. Peter, back to his normal persona which happened to be a nurse, put a hand on Nathan's back and helped him sit upright.

Nathan looked up and saw his floppy haired brother staring back, then scooted away from Peter almost immediately. Peter frowned back, hurt, but he knew that Nathan had every good reason in the book to keep a distance between them.

"What the hell have you done?" Nathan snarled, his fear still leaving his irateness in tact.

Peter's dark eyes were glazed. "I-I dunno. Claire…she left, though." He was ranting incomprehensibly now; the only words that Nathan could make out were 'Claire,' 'gone,' and 'scare.'

"Listen," Nathan said, clearing his throat and approaching Peter a little closer. "Calm down, take a deep breath. She'll be fine. She's probably with Parkman."

Peter scowled indignantly. "Fine? Fine?! _I'm _the one that's supposed to be protecting her! Me! She's not safe alone, and I don't trust Matt, and now I have no idea where they've gone, okay?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she's real safe with you, Peter; look what you just did!"

"I would never hurt her," Peter gritted out. "You punched me! What was I supposed to do, stand there?"

"What about Parkman? You said he left with Claire, so he must not have gotten knocked out. How'd they escape?"

"I," Peter began, when guilt began to creep into the valves of his heart. "Claire hit me on the head with something." He glanced over to the spot where he'd fallen unconscious and saw a broken bottle of wine. "A wine bottle, I guess."

"How'd she do that?" Nathan peered into his brothers blameworthy features. "What were _you _doing, Pete?"

Peter hesitated. "Killing Matt Parkman," he replied softly, looking to the floor. Nathan sighed and rested himself against the back of the couch.

"You almost killed him? What were you thinking? How could _you _do that?"

"I don't know!" snapped Peter, his eyes glowing with panic. Out of all the terrible things he'd done in the last couple days, this was the first time he actually _regretted _something. Tearing apart rooftops and fighting back was one thing. Almost killing a defenseless man was another. _That's _why he was so remorseful…Matt was exposed and vulnerable. It was an unjust murder attempt. Peter wasn't so sorry about the near death…after all; Matt had set _himself _up for a fight. No, Peter was apologetic for the injustice. Even when he was doing something cold like slaying, Peter still had the inner nobleness of a hero.

"You shouldn't go after her," Nathan advised. "You're dangerous, she doesn't need that, and YOU still have a job to do."

"If you're talking about that stupid cure…"

"As a matter of fact I am. We _need _you for this. There's no exploding man, there's no apocalypse. It's all in your head. You need help, Peter," Nathan rested a hand on his little brother's shoulder before Peter viciously shrugged out of his reach.

"I don't want to talk about this," Peter muttered. "Claire's gone. I have to find her."

"You have no idea where to look!" cried Nathan exasperated at being ignored. Peter was already pulling on his black cashmere trench coat. He stared at his brother with a fierce determination that Nathan had never seen before in Peter.

"I think I have a hunch."

**Isaac Mendez, Simone Deveaux, Matt and Claire**

**Isaac's Studio, Manhattan**

All that Matt had told Claire about Isaac Mendez was his name, and that he was a prophetic artist. From these tidbits, Claire had formed a mental image of what she suspected he was like: a crazy old Latino man that barely spoke any English, covered in paint, and hearing disembodied voices. To her astonishment, Isaac was anything but that. Well, he _was _covered in paint, but only on his hands. And rather then him being incomprehensible and eighty, Isaac couldn't have been older then thirty, with a low, sultry, barely-there accent that was hard to place. Needless to say, it was a pleasant surprise on Claire's part.

What was _not _a pleasant surprise was a guest that had decided to stop by Isaac's that morning: Simone Deveaux. Claire would not be outwardly mean to the woman, for that would be rude, but her stomach boiled with anger at what Simone had done to Peter.

"You were talking to me about my dad," Claire reminded Matt a few minutes after they arrived at the loft. Matt looked distinctly uncomfortable and said that she better sit down. Claire awkwardly looked around, trying to find a chair amidst all the clutter. Isaac noted this and sheepishly grabbed a stool from behind a stack of canvases, handing it over to her.

:"He's…still alive and everything, right?" Claire whispered, afraid for the worst. Matt's eyes were pained. He was clearly having a rough time breaking this bombshell.

"I'm pretty sure, for now that is. When we were tracking Sylar…well, Sylar got to us first. He kidnapped your dad two days ago, and I have no idea where they've gone. Bennet told me that if anything like this was to happen, I was to come to Isaac. He can paint the future, so he can probably paint your dad's whereabouts."

Claire barely heard the last of Matt's words. Her father was in the clutches of the worst possible person; a murderer, a psycho, and perhaps even a cannibal. A _super powered _psychotic murdering cannibal.

"I've been having trouble though," admitted Isaac quietly. "Lately…the future keeps getting closer. I used to paint things that would happen in seven, eight weeks. Then it became a week or less, and now, I'm painting things seconds before they happen. I'm afraid that by the time I paint your father, we may be too late. However…"

That one little word made Claire pick her eyes off the floor and look at Isaac again, hope spearing into her heart. Isaac was rummaging through several canvases, many of which Claire realized were of _her_, before pulling out a small black and white piece.

It was her father, handcuffed and slumped against a grimy wooden wall. The room he was in was impossible to locate, but it gave her a little piece of mind that he probably was still alive.

"I'm going to try to find the tracking system," announced Matt. "With it, I can find Sylar, and wherever _he _is, your Dad is."

"Tracking system?" Simone piped for the first time. "They're tracking you?"

"What do you know about the system?" Claire ignored Simone, frowning at Matt's wording. Parkman rubbed his neck.

"Honestly…not that much. It's in this city somewhere, and it'll be tough to get past security, but I think-,"

"No," Claire said sternly, shaking her head. "We need something quicker. Someone we know that can find Sylar."

"I could try painting him," suggested Isaac.

"Yeah, but none of us know what he looks like," Claire pointed out. "I only saw him in the shadows."

"Me too," grumbled Matt, and Isaac didn't mention that he'd _never _seen Sylar in person.

"Isaac could do it," replied Simone with an offended bite in her voice, lightly stroking Isaac's forearm. Claire looked away.

"But…," added Claire suddenly in recall. "Peter's seen Sylar up close. And he's been acting really touchy lately too. I think his power is letting him actually feel other people like us."

"Hell no!" Matt barked, making Claire jump. The force of his outburst caused him to wince and massage the center of his chest where his heart was still sensitive. "I still have the aches to prove that the guy isn't safe to be around."

Isaac frowned. "Peter? He may be a bomb, but he'd never hurt anyone on purpose. He's a nurse."

Matt scoffed. "Whatever you say, homes. Claire was _there_. She can tell you all about what he did to me."

Off Claire's glistening, downcast eyes, Matt sighed and regretted bringing up the subject.

"He's gonna come after me anyways," murmured Claire, still audible in the dead silent loft. "You know he will. He's crazy about protecting me. It's one of the reasons he's gotten so temperamental lately. He doesn't know how to shift from Peter the Bodyguard to Normal Peter."

"He has changed," Simone agreed. "I talked to him on the roof the other day…I barely recognized him."

Isaac placed a comforting hand on Claire's shoulder. "Don't worry. You'll be safe here with us."

Claire stood up, guiltily shrugging off Isaac's palm. "No, I…I _want _him to find me. I don't want to endanger either of you, really, but…God, it's _Peter_. He…I don't even know…"

She slumped against a table like dead weight, willing herself not to cry in front of these two strangers. Matt seemed to understand from her thoughts that Peter's roots ran deep in Claire's heart. Still, the main priority right now had to be getting her dad back.

Matt groaned. "I'm willing to go face first into a fight to save your Dad, Claire, but do you know what Sylar can _do_? He's too powerful for all three of us combined. Isaac and I have these totally mundane abilities and yours is just defensive. We'd be idiots to go marching in there!"

"That's another reason we need Peter," Claire stated firmly. "Trust me, I can bring him back! All he needs is some guidance, and me. He told me that I help him control it."

Simone and Isaac looked at each other apprehensively and Claire found herself pleading with the group of adults. _Way to make yourself look grown up, Claire…_

"_Please, _I have to save my father! And without Peter, we don't stand a chance. He's the only one strong enough to fend off Sylar-,"

"He _is_ Sylar," Matt quipped under his breath. "They're both ruthless. We can't trust him, I'm sorry."

Claire moaned and rest her cheek on one of the various tables. There had to be a way…

**The Petrelli Brothers**

**Canal Street, New York City**

"What are you following me for, Nathan?"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Nathan growled back, prompting Peter to roll his eyes.

"I'm not six, anymore, okay? I'm twenty-six. I can take care of myself."

They were heading out of the front of the apartment building, and Nathan hadn't left Peter's proximity for more then three feet ever since he'd regained consciousness.

"You can't take care of yourself!" retorted Nathan. "You almost just killed a man, you _lost _the girl you were supposed to be protecting, you haven't given a single stray thought to _my _needs…and now we're heading to Isaac's, and you don't even like him, so if I see him dead on the news, I wouldn't be surprised.."

Peter bitterly turned around, grabbed Nathan by the lapels, and shoved him up against a harsh brick wall like Claude had done to him so many times.

"_I'm _heading to Isaac's and I never asked _you _to tag along, now did I? Also, almost isn't enough, Claire was _taken_, and your 'needs' are the least important thing on anyone's list right now." Nathan could feel Peter's hot breath in his face as if a dragon had him pinned between concrete and horsepower.

Roughly releasing Nathan, Peter turned back around and continued down the street.

"I'm still following you," Nathan snapped. Peter sauntered away, not looking back, as Nathan tried to find way to fly to Isaac's without attracting attention. On a sunny New York day, it was impossible, and Nathan had to settle for the long walk ahead.

**Isaac, Simone, Matt, and Claire**

**Isaac's Loft, New York City**

While Isaac and Simone were conversing lightly on the other side of the room, Matt had engrossed Claire into an emotional talk.

"It's not just his abilities," Claire confessed to him. "It's that if I'm not there, he'll only get worse. He _will _kill someone if we don't help him right now. And I can't see that. I can't bear to see him like…this…"

"You have feelings for him, don't you?" Matt asked understandingly, already knowing the answer.

"Feelings?" Claire's face took on an aghast expression that was too over-the-top to be sincere. Matt cocked his head and Claire's face fell.

"Is it that obvious?" she sighed. Matt smiled back.

"It is when you're a mind reader."

Claire looked at him thoughtfully before speaking. "I'm not sure how I feel, really. I've always felt something that I probably shouldn't for him, but it's never really been that noticeable until now. But I care for the _real _Peter, not what he's become. I…I _miss _him. I want him back and I would do anything to get the darkness out of him."

Matt felt like he was seeing for the first time. "Look, I want to give Peter a second chance too," he said gamely, putting a small smile on Claire's pretty face. "He was a good guy in Odessa, and like you said, he's the only one that can help us with Sylar. But…_can we trust him_? Will he _really _listen to you?"

"Maybe not _listen_," confessed Claire, "since he's always been stubborn. But I might have been going about this all wrong. Instead of yelling at him, maybe I should have hugged him. Comforted him. I…" A revelation hit Claire in that instant, and she didn't know _how _she could have missed this oh-so obvious point. "I should have counteracted evil with love, not with more anger! Two wrongs don't make a right; oh, why didn't I see this before?"

"Good, you've got a plan now," said Matt contentedly. "It'll make things easier for you later. But what if he rejects that affection?"

"He would never hurt me," Claire responded softly.

"No, I wouldn't," said a voice to her side. A familiar, husky, tenor that she'd longed to see for what seemed like an eternity. Peter materialized beside her, a miserable smile playing across his lips.

Claire remembered some of the topics of her and Matt's conversation and she blushed ruby.

"Um…how long were you standing there?"

Peter answered honestly. "I just got here. The first thing I heard was Matt talking about a good plan."

Speaking of the policeman, he was fighting back the urge to glare at Peter Petrelli, but held it in check for Claire's sake. Peter looked over at him unnervingly.

"I'm sorry for what I did," he apologized sincerely. "It was unfair, you weren't armed, and it's all sort of a blur to me…"

"Ferrgetaboutit," coughed Matt, involuntarily rubbing his chest again.

Peter turned to Claire again and recognized mixed emotions in her eyes. Before he could inquire about any of them, Isaac hollered for Peter from the other side of the room. A stoic, careful face had fallen over the young artist's features, and Simone's expression was an echo of it. Instead of ignoring them, like he wanted to, Peter gave them the benefit of the doubt and decided to see what they wanted. Right before he walked way though, Claire grabbed his elbow fiercely.

"What is it?" Peter said, brow knitting.

"Don't do anything that you're gonna regret," Claire warned him, looking straight in the eye. Peter looked away.

"I can't make that promise, but I'll try," he leveled with her. "For you."

Claire nodded mutely and Peter slipped out of her grasp. He turned to face his demons, which were now coupled with a prophet and an enchantress. Countering them all at once was to be a walk through purgatory.


	12. Turnabout

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Eleven**

"**Turnabout"**

Claire Bennet did not know Isaac and she resented Simone. She didn't like Nathan Petrelli much either, who came stumbling into the studio a few seconds after Peter arrived (and, who, of course, blew off his careening with classy denial). But although she was subjective to human favoritism, Claire Bennet was also someone with heart, and she was honestly afraid for all three of them. Even for herself and Matt Parkman, who were safe distances away. For Peter, her once lovely Peter, stepped down to talk to Isaac and Simone, and he could not honestly promise her that he could control his wrath.

Matt got up from his stool and crossed to the other side of the table, Claire's side, and he gently pulled the girl by the arm. He could sense her tension, and decided that it would be wise to take a few steps back.

"What's going on?" Peter asked Isaac bluntly. Isaac took a deep breath and looked at Simone significantly before answering his "frenemy."

"It's Claire's dad. He's been captured by a man named Sylar, the same man who tried to kill Claire."

"Gabriel," Peter muttered to himself. "So his real name is Sylar, then?"

Isaac nodded and gestured to the painting of Bennet in an unknown cell. "Yes. That's the only good drawing I've managed to make of Bennet. All the other times I've tried to find him have turned up useless."

Peter frowned. "Useless _how_?"

"They're all close ups, or paintings of random objects. Clocks, glasses. Garbage, all of it." Isaac was pacing back to a stack of canvases in the corner and heaving them to the table by Peter. The other man took the liberty of flipping through Isaac's rejected paintings and saw that the artist was telling the truth. The only paintings were of a grandfather clock, a close up of someone's hand over their ear, a splatter of blood on the floor, and a pair of spectacles with several attached magnifying glasses.

"Claire said that you can find him though," Simone explained to Peter emotionlessly as he examined the canvases more closely. "She said that you have some sort of new ability. You can sense people."

Peter tapped his thumb on his chin thoughtfully. Was that it, then? Ever since regaining consciousness in his apartment, the extreme sensory that he had developed had calmed down a bit. That must have been why he wasn't nauseous and writhing on the ground in his present company of four mutants. However, he closed his eyes and reached out a tad, and found that he could still feel Claire, Matt, Nathan, and Isaac if he concentrated. The most interesting part was that they were all different. Though all four had powers and could be seen as warm glow spots on Peter's radar, some burned brighter and broader then others. Matt's greenish glow, though dim, seemed to expand all across the room, while Claire's pink heat was contained to herself and blindingly bright. Nathan was a tiny, dim, speck of navy blue.

Clearly, Claire was more observant and sharp then Peter gave her credit for if she had actually developed this hypothesis. Peter looked over at her from across the room and gave her a small smile, only to get sad, desperate, green eyes in return.

"Yeah, I think I can. I could find Sylar, at least. I can only sense people like us, not…normal humans. And if Sylar's not close, then I'm out of luck. I can only feel people's powers, not track them. Then again, Sylar's extremely powerful. Someone's power would have to be strong and spread for me to see them from a long distance. Like, Claire's is small because she herself is the only one that can use it. It's limited. But I can sense Parkman's power from a farther range, because the range of _his _power is extended. Understand?"

Isaac nodded and Matt relaxed his grip on Claire's arms, relieved that this discussion was going peacefully. Unfortunately, the wrong words were spoken and for the second time that day, all hell broke loose.

"If you can't sense small powers from far distances, then how'd you track Claire all the way here?" Isaac inquired to Peter. Peter arched an eyebrow smugly.

"Magic," Peter replied bitterly.

Simone rolled her eyes and stepped forward. "This is serious, Peter. We've got a life at risk here."

"Serious?" Peter cut his eyes at Simone, his voice rising. "Serious? What about _my _life? What about the four million _other _lives that I'm gonna kill when I explode!"

"We're worried about that too, we've just got to cross one bridge before-,"

"Cross one bridge!?" Peter exploded, making Simone flinch. "It's not that big of a deal! I sense Sylar, I kill him, I bring back Claire's dad. There shouldn't even be a _thought _about it!"

"Peter…" Claire was warning, but Peter totally ignored her.

"Whoa, buddy," Nathan stepped into the conversation, holding up a palm to announce his entrance. "Rewind a second. You're not going anywhere alone."

Peter looked like he had been slapped in the face as he shot glances to Isaac, Simone, and his brother.

"We can't rely on you anymore," Simone added firmly. "You're dangerous."

On a better day, Peter would have had a good laugh at the irony of the situation. The conniving politician, the junkie, and the LAPD cop were all calling the hospice nurse dodgy.

"We want to trust you," Matt added fairly from the other side of the room, "because we really can't do this without you. But we don't know if we _can _trust you."

Peter spotted a gun lying on one of Isaac's tables, a pistol handed to the artist with orders from Bennet: "Just in case we give you instruction to use it." Isaac had been lucky enough to not to receive any instructions of the sort from the Company, but now he really regretted not putting the gun away somewhere. With a nod of his head, the gun went flying into Peter's open palm. Immediately, he pointed the gun at Simone.

Everyone in the room jumped into action. Isaac shoved Simone behind him, creating a barrier between his girlfriend and his rival. Nathan crept to Peter's side, on guard to start a flow of persuasive calmness out of his thin lips. Matt stood in front of Claire, but the blonde girl was too tense to stay behind him for long.

Peter had a bored expression on his face as he explained his motive. "Isaac?"

Isaac stood solid in front of Simone, glaring back at Peter as the raven haired young man continued.

"If I pull this trigger? You'll be dead in moments."

Peter lowered the gun and tossed it, sending the weapon sliding across the floor with a screech. It hit Isaac's rigid leather boots and everyone who had just looked tense, now looked confused.

"Pick it up and shoot _me_," Peter concluded. "See what happens." He paused, and the turned to walk away. "Let's go get your father back, Claire."

"No."

Claire was shocked at herself for letting the syllable escape her lips, and it had the expected consequence. Peter whipped his head around and tried to control his temper for her sake.

"…._What_?"

"Peter," Claire breathed, moving out from behind Matt and approaching her roommate. "We can't do it alone. Remember Homecoming? Sylar killed you, and I ran away. It's going to take all of us to save my father."

"She's right, man," Matt said. "We can't do it without you, but you can't do it single-handedly."

Peter sneered. "You have no idea what I can do. And the only reason I died at Homecoming was because I was unprepared back then. But I've trained with Claude; I've gotten control-,"

"No," Claire said softly, her voice cracking. "You've _lost _control. It's not that you can do it. It's if you should."

She advanced towards Peter slowly, and when she saw that he wasn't going to move away, she gently put her hands on his arms. It was time for her to go into "kill him with kindness" mode.

"Listen; just…try to find my dad. Then we'll all go together, and get this over with, so then we can worry about the bomb, okay?"

Peter nodded mutely, accepting her proposal. He could hardly say no to those sparkling green eyes.

"Alright. Let's go home, then. The apartment is more centralized. I might have better luck from there."

A loud murmur of four protesting voices reared its head.

"That's not the best idea, Pete," Nathan cautioned. "Claire's not safe with you. She should stay with Parkman." He would have put in a good word for Isaac, but even Nathan knew that was a bad idea considering Peter's feelings about the artist. Plus, Isaac was a heroin addict; not the best conditions for a seventeen year old girl.

"What are you talking about?!" Peter suddenly cried and Claire cursed Nathan for starting this madness all over again. "Of course she's safe with me; I saved her life! It's me that's supposed to be protecting her! It doesn't even matter what I've done. I would NEVER harm her!"

Claire knew in her heart that this was a true statement, and Peter had even made a vow to set it in stone. However, convincing the others of that was going to be a problem, and Claire wasn't too unhappy to stay with Matt. He definitely made her feel safe, with his teddy bear like persona and his fatherly vibe. Plus, he genuinely wanted to save Bennet. Claire had a sneaking suspicion that Peter's arrogance was fueling his savior-happy fire.

"What do _you _want, Claire?" Matt asked seriously. Claire's eyes widened. Was she really being forced to make that choice? Her heart told her to go with Peter, of course. Where she needed to be at that moment was by his side, reeling him in from darkness. However, all logical sense told her to go with Matt. But what would save her father more effectively? If she went with Matt, there was a chance that Peter wouldn't help them. If she went with Peter, there was a chance that _no one else _would help the pair. The situation was a total double-edged sword, except this one could tear past Claire's indestructible skin.

Obviously, looking at it from that point of view was not going to help. When it came down to the bare basics, staying with Matt would simply be safer. She was tired of always arguing with Peter as well. The feelings that had grown so strong for him were starting to flicker and die in the wake of his new, undisciplined self.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she said softly. "I'm gonna stay with Matt for a while."

She saw something break behind Peter's cold brown eyes. Chaos was ignited past those pupils; chaos blended with rage, misunderstanding, and a crumbled heart.

_This is it, _Claire whispered to herself. _He's going to explode. It's actually going to happen, and God, it's my entire fault. It's all my fault…._

The studio began to shake, as though an earthquake had abruptly hit. Peter had stumbled back, supporting his weight on the wooden table behind him. The spite in his eyes was playing hooky now, replaced by emptiness, and his body was trembling.

Paint buckets, chairs, canvases…objects started levitating and circling the room. Peter's emotions mixed and boiled, thrashed and churned in the pit of his stomach and in the base of his heart. Claire tried to make her way over to him, but fell over from the intense shaking of the floor.

Then Matt saw it first. The gleaming gun that was in the middle of the floorpocolypse. At that moment, it too levitated with the various other art knickknacks spinning through the air. Except the gun did not spin. Rather, it began firing wildly, bullets careening everywhere.

One such bullet was headed directly for Simone, and Matt later swore that he saw Isaac leap in front of it in slow motion. Yet Mendez had not been quick enough. The small nugget of metal just grazed Isaac's shoulder and plunged right into Simone's heart.

"Oh my God," Matt exhaled, feeling suddenly dizzy. Claire didn't see it happen (too busy trying to stop Peter), yet she did hear Isaac's scream and the thud of Simone's body onto the concrete floor.

"NO!!! SIMONE!!!"

The shaking stopped as quickly as it had begun and everything that had been zooming through the air suddenly fell unceremoniously from the sky. Nathan barely dodged a ten pound can of paint from falling directly onto his head.

Peter had snapped out of it after hearing Isaac's tortured call. He blinked and looked across the room. The sight which met his eyes made his breath hitch in his throat, the taste of bile staining his mouth.

Claire's hand was over her mouth in horror as she followed Peter's eye line. Isaac was kneeled right on top of his floor mural, with a bloody, lifeless Simone cradled in his arms. Isaac's own shoulder had a rapidly bleeding wound on it, but the shock of what had just happened numbed all of his pain better then a shot of heroin. Even Nathan was speechless.

"Simone…" Peter choked, rushing over to the dead art dealer, his former love. They'd been in a spat, sure, but he had never wanted, never even imagined….

All of their memories flashed before his eyes. Their kiss in the rain, the long night of lovemaking after his heartfelt confession to her. The day her father died, how she had to see him and feel his arms around her. Just because Peter was no longer in love with her, did not mean that these recollections were worthless to him. And now she was gone, never, ever to speak another word, or look upon him with those eyes.

Simone was totally innocent. Her death had no meaning, no significance and it strangled Peter to the core.

What had he done? This was not a threat, or a fight. Simone was _dead. _And…

Peter Petrelli was the murderer.

It was too much to think about. Peter stood up on shaking legs, taking a look at the horrified people around him. Isaac, whose sobs were unchecked; Nathan, who was faced the other direction with his head clutched in his hands (the feetle position was probably not far off); Matt's brown eyes stalked Peter, every pigment in his irises filled with pity and grief. Lastly, Claire just stood shell-shocked, aghast, and devastated.

There was no turning back. A woman was dead, at the hands of Peter. The Earth was spinning too fast right now, and Claire was trying not to fall off. Not only had Peter finally tripped the edge, but she also felt so much blame upon her own shoulders. Claire's words were the catalysts that had driven Peter into a rageful tizzy, and it was she that had not tried hard enough, not pushed enough care out of herself to save him. Save Peter. Save everyone.

Peter met Claire's eyes, though, and they reassured her and tore her apart at the same time. Only Peter could do such a thing to her mind. For the eyes that looked at her, looked through her, were not the portals to the wicked soul that he had become. They were the same eyes that she had looked into so deeply on the rooftop. The eyes that she had first seen when she woke up on the street, right after Peter pulled her out of the way of a truck. The eyes that promised her so much were _her Peter's_, but were now full of shock and disorder, and honest to God _fear. What have I done, Claire? Help me, please….._

And like any panicking man, he ran away as fast as he could, turning invisible in the process.

"Peter!" Nathan shouted, weakly running up the stairs to chase his sibling, but it was a lost cause.

The whole room was silent for several heavy seconds, save for the sound of Isaac's choked cries.

"I'm calling 911," Nathan growled, taking out his cell phone.

"Are you nuts?" exclaimed Matt. "There's no way you're gonna be able to explain this, and then they'll take Simone's body to the coroner, and we can't have this place swarming with forensics people."

"Then how are we going to explain a woman dropping off the face of the earth? Simone had friends, family, people that knew her and cared about her!"

"We'll tell them when the time is right," Matt consented tiredly, rubbing his forehead. Nathan sighed and put his phone back in his pocket.

"You and Claire need to be off. I'll…handle Isaac, I guess," Nathan spoke through gritted teeth, but forced himself to stay with the artist. It really would be the most logical ordering of things. Claire and Matt needed to get out of there, and Nathan had enough of a conscience to feel guilty about leaving Isaac to grieve alone.

"Good idea," Matt concurred, looking around to hail Claire to his side. However, the girl had disappeared from sight. Both men saw and heard the front door swing shut.

"She's going after him!" Nathan groaned. Both he and Parkman clambered up the stairs, through the front door, and down the hall, calling for the blonde that was rushing towards the elevator.

The cop and the lawyer were faster then Claire's way out though, and Matt gripped her by the shoulders with the force of a Spartan.

"Claire? What were you thinking?!" he asked frantically, panting from the run. _I really need to do more cardio. _

"I'm not going after Peter, I swear," Claire explained impatiently. "I need to talk to my bio-dad."

"Lewis Rushton?" sputtered Nathan, scratching his head. "What? _Why?"_

"You wouldn't understand," Claire bit back harshly, and she stepped into the elevator that had just opened with a _ding_.

Before the doors closed, Claire left them with one last message.

"Don't follow me."


	13. Crash and Burn

_I own nothing, ya'll. I wish I did, but it's Kring and Co's, so I'm just borrowing. _

**Chapter Twelve**

"**Crash and Burn"**

**Claire Bennet**

**The Deveaux Building**

While anxiously riding the elevator of the Deveaux building to the roof, Claire would have done anything for a rabbit's foot, a falling star, or a penny with her birth year. Any token of luck would do, for at that moment, Claire felt like she had not fortune left at all. There was no guaranteeing that Claude would be on the roof. It's not like he lived there or anything. But if Claire walked out onto the top of the apartment building and did not find her biological father, she had no clue where to look next. Finding a rogue was difficult. Finding an invisible rogue was impossible.

However, the Gods of Good Timing were actually looking over Claire that day, and she'd never been so happy in her life to hear indignant British murmurings.

"Claude?" Claire asked timidly, emerging from the greenhouse.

"Claire, love, what are you doing here?" Claude replied, surprised to see her alone. Claire heard footsteps and then felt hands on her shoulders. A few seconds later, Claude materialized in front of her, concern etched across his stubbly face.

"It's Peter," Claire whispered, looking up at him desperatly. Claude wrinkled his nose, and with his arm around Claire, led her onto the roof.

"You've got to mention that name? Look at this mess I'm still tryin' to clean up because of him!"

"No, it's worse then this. Much worse. Please, you've got to…," Claire didn't even know what to say anymore. She simply broke down in his arms while Claude awkwardly tried to comfort her.

"Claire, speak up," he said as gently as he could manage. "What happened? What did he do?"

Claire looked up at her father with glistening eyes. A knot was tied in her stomach or her heart, she wasn't really sure, and it made her want to vomit. Best to just say it all in one breath and get it over with.

"Peter, he…he killed Simone," she sniffed. Claude's face turned white and for the first time, he was actually at a loss for words.

"My God," he murmured, dumbfounded by Claire's revelation. Claire moistened her lips and choked out a chopped version of the rest of the story.

"It was an accident, he got upset and…then he ran. Oh, he's scared, Claude, I can't leave him. You have to help me; you're the only one that can snap him out of it!"

Claude pulled away from his daughter, disappearing from her vision momentarily.

"I can't do that. Peter's gone now, dear. You shouldn't go near him either…"

"I won't leave him!!!" Claire screeched, reaching forward and grabbing two handfuls of Claude's invisible cloak. "He needs me, he needs _you_. We're all he's got! He doesn't know what's happening to him, and he's terrified at what he's just done. Now he's at his apartment, alone, and I don't know what he's doing, he could be killing himself for all I know, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if-,"

"Calm down. It's going to be alright." Claude promised her, enveloping Claire in his arms yet again.

"No," Claire sobbed, pushing away. "Sylar's got my dad, and we need Peter to save him. And now Peter's gone ballistic, and seeing him like that…I can't stand it anymore…"

Claude didn't quite know what made him give in. Perhaps it was seventeen years of fatherhood that he owed Claire, or possibly the sight of her distressed face. Or, just maybe, Claude was going soft? _Oh, sure, _he scoffed sarcastically. _THAT'LL be the day. _

"Alright, we'll go pay your pup a visit. I don't think it'll do much good, but if it's so important to you…"

Claire threw herself into his arms for the umpteenth time. "Thank you so much," she breathed in relief.

"Now where'd you say he's at, again?"

"His apartment," Claire swallowed.

"Six miles from here, that is," Claude sighed. "I guess I'll be stealing us a cab. Again."

**Peter Petrelli**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

The landlord was gonna kill Peter when he saw the front door ripped violently off it's hinges, but Peter didn't give any mind to that. His focus was so blurred, he didn't even know _what _power he'd used to blow through the door to 1407. Telekinesis? Super-strength? Who know? Peter's eyes were on one place as he stumbled through his abode, fighting back raw, unadulterated wails. Sobs so hard they would send him to his knees, coughing and dry heaving until he was an inch away from death. At least that would have still been better then his current mental state.

Peter had never had a nervous breakdown, nor known anyone that had experienced one, but he did study them in nursing school. He flunked that exam, on the sheer context that he just didn't _get it. _How could someone just lose control under stress? They could get frustrated, sure, but a full-out in-the-streets sort of collapse? Odd, very odd.

But on that day, if he'd taken the exam again, he would have passed with flying colors. Because Peter Petrelli was probably having the most extreme nervous breakdown in the history of pressure.

The master bathroom was nauseatingly far away from the front door, and Peter almost had a coronary just getting there. He needed a constant, to a focal point to block out every needle that the acupuncture of stress had plunged into his flesh.

Peter ripped open the sliding glass shower curtain and stumbled into the bathtub, bruising himself in several places. The wounds healed so fast, he didn't even realize they'd been present. There were three dials in front of him: a blue one, a red one, and a clear one with T-S written on it. Peter turned on the shower head and didn't even take his time choosing a poison. Super cold, super hot, it didn't matter. The red dial was the closest to him, so he lazily cranked that one handle as far as it could go, neglecting to even touch the cold water knob.

The jet of water shooting out of the showerhead must have been a pure 110 degrees, and Peter accepted every Fahrenheit of it. With his still-booted foot, he flipped the drain switch, allowing the water to pool around him. He wondered what it would feel like to drown and boil at the same time. Surely he could not heal from that.

Claire and Claude arrived a few minutes later, stepping over the shards of broken wood where a door used to be. That in itself made Claude want to turn on his heel and high-tail it out of there. The only thing that made him stay was the look of utter hopelessness that Claire sent in his direction. _Please. _

So Claude reluctantly followed his daughter into the apartment, which had a haze in it that he couldn't understand.

"A bit foggy in here, don't you think?" he asked, waving his hand around.

"Yeah," Claire agreed, hearing splashing coming from the other side of the apartment. "The shower."

Claude jerked his head towards the bathroom. "You go fetch him. I'll find a new door."

Claire nodded silently and slowly tread her way towards the shower. Part of her was nervous about walking in on Peter naked, which, considering their grave status quo, would really not be as big of a deal as it used to be. There was something eerie floating around this whole dwelling, though, and Claire had a gut feeling that Peter wasn't just taking a shower.

Especially with the door half-open and hot enough to steam up the whole place.

Pushing the door open all the way, Claire stepped into the bathroom. The steam was so dense inside of the tiny space that she could barely see or even breathe. Water was on the floor, spilling over from the sides of the bathtub, making that knot in Claire's stomach twist even more with dread. Somehow, she managed to find the sliding glass divider to the shower curtain and pull it open. What greeted her was a sight that she would take to the grave.

"Peter," she moaned, slumping to the floor with the side of the bathtub as her only support.

Peter was crimson and purple with heat burns, lying unconscious (_dead, _Claire thought, gritting her teeth) at the bottom of the bathtub under four inches of water. Claire immediately opened the drain and shut off the water, noting the extreme of the temperature without much surprise. Not waiting for the water level to lower, Claire reached into Hell, grabbed Peter's lapels, and pulled him back to the land of the living.

It took longer than usual for Peter to come back to life, but after several long seconds, his eyes shot open and a pint of water came spilling out of his mouth. Huge gasps of air followed, and Peter's hands instinctively gripped Claire's on his trench coat front. Claire closed her eyes and thanked God, the son, and the Holy Ghost for bringing Peter back this particular time, when he actually did deserve to go to sleep and never wake up.

When Peter could breathe regularly, he sat up in the bathtub and released his grip on Claire. The water level was now at his waist, and the mauve welts all across his face were taking forever to heal. He blinked through the miasma and saw Claire, triggering why he'd been burning away his sins in the first place.

"No…" was the first word out of his parched throat. "You need to go, Claire, you shouldn't be here."

Normally Claire would have argued with him, but she knew by now that he was ranting just to rant. Peter had no idea what he was saying, and clearly, a brush with death was not the cure for his anguish.

Claire climbed into the bathtub, ignoring the fact that her jeans would be soaked and grabbed Peter's hands. He wrenched them away from her aggressively.

"Get out! It's not safe for you!" he snarled.

"Peter, calm down, it's just us."

"No!" Peter's voice cracked, and the sobs which he'd buried so deep came spilling out all at once. "I'm a murderer, Claire! You're not….you're not safe with me. My dreams, they were all right! I turned into Sylar, just like they said I would!"

Claire clutched Peter's face in her hands, her own tears flowing unbridled. He was too weak, and tired, and grief-stricken to resist her this time. Instead of fighting, he subjected, staring into her broken, compassionate eyes.

"How can you even come near me after this…?" Peter muttered, closing his eyes and shaking.

"Shh, shh, I can help you. Don't shut me out anymore, Peter, I…"

Claire wasn't sure if she stopped there because she didn't know what to say, or knew and wasn't ready. Whatever the reason, it failed to matter, because the look she gave Peter told him everything he needed to know.

A last tear escaped Claire's right eye and trailed down her cheek. Tentatively, as though leaning in for a first kiss, Peter reached his wrist up, and gently wiped the lone droplet away with the back of his hand. His fingers were still as hot as coals from the water, and the warmth sent electricity through Claire's small frame. Looking at him at once, Claire knew for certain that she had her Peter back, the real Peter. It tempted her like an Eden apple to fall into his arms and start crying in joy, but she had to be the strong one today.

"Claude!" she called hoarsely and the invisible man moseyed into the bathroom.

"Bloody _hell_. What happened in here?! Your landlord is gonna shit a chicken!"

"Help me get Peter up, please," Claire told him warily, and Claude bit back a retort about not wanting to get his clothes wet. With their combined strengths, they were able to drag Peter and his scorched, numb body to his bed, after Claire helped him peel off his coat. Claude took the liberty of going through Peter's drawers to fish him out some dry clothes, while Claire comforted Peter on the bed. He was lying on his side, wrapped in a large beach towel to keep the bed dry and she was sitting upright beside him, legs hanging off of the side.

Brushing Peter's wet hair off his forehead soothingly, Claire simply stared down at him, absorbing his features. His eyes were closed in fatigue, and she continued to stroke his hair even after it was all out of his face. Now that her hero was back, she realized that her feelings for him had returned as well. It has happened as soon as his fingers had brushed her cheek. She spotted tears leaking out from under his eyelids and returned the favor, caressing them away.

Peter felt her milky soft skin stroke his and he opened his eyes.

"Why'd it take a death?" he asked, barely audible, through chapped lips. He was calm now, but the hole in his heart still remained. "Why did she have to die for me to realize what you were telling me all along?"

"It's done now," was all Claire could reply. "It's in the past. We all make mistakes, and nobody's gonna forgive you until you forgive yourself."

Peter half-sniveled, half-snorted. "Are you sure you're seventeen? You're a hell of a lot smarter than me."

"Or maybe you're just dense," Claire teased lightly, knowing that old-school Peter wouldn't take offense.

He didn't. "You're probably right," he replied, smiling small and sad right up at her.

A stack of clothes dropped onto the foot of the bed. "C'mon, Peter," Claude said. "Time to change."

Peter groaned, closing his eyes again. The last thing he felt like doing was getting off of the bed. In fact, he wouldn't mind just lying there, with Claire sitting beside him running her fingers through his hair, for a week.

If they hadn't been connected enough, Peter felt a new bond with Claire unlike any he'd experienced with _anyone. _It was a hybrid of trust, respect, and love in its most simplest and chaste form. After all, it would be impossible not to love someone who had done everything she had, in _some _way.

Claude was unyielding, and it was for his own good. "If you don't get off that damn bed in ten seconds, I'll rip off your clothes myself and let the girl watch! Get _up_!"

On a breezier day (a _much _breezier day) Claire would have jokingly pinned Peter to the bed just to see Claude's threat come to life. Forlorn still hung in the air, though, along with the steam, and Claire did her best to help Peter stand up.

Crossly, the young man took his clothes from Claude and headed into his walk-in-closet to change (the bathroom was, after all, unfit).

"See? I told you I needed you here," Claire grinned to nobody, unable, as usual, to see Claude.

Claude shrugged. "You're the one that really brought him back. He'd jump off a bridge for _you_."

"He already jumped off a building," Claire recalled quietly, blushing.

Claude took note of Claire's pink cheeks, adding it to his mental list. "You're sweet on him, I know."

His daughter looked up at him abruptly, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

Claude smirked. "See? Look how defensive you are about it. Proving me theory right."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Claire tried to look staid. "Your theory is _wrong_, because I can recognize a hopeless cause."

Claude scoffed. "A hopeless cause? Are you _blind_, poppet? You've got him so wrapped around your pinkie finger, he doesn't know what way is up! I see the way he looks at you. He's practically drooling. I'm almost tempted to box him one the next time he-,"

"Shh!" Claire hissed, waving a hand towards the closet. "Keep your voice down! He's right in there!"

Claude rolled his eyes and Claire pulled out her big old log of "Reasons Why Not."

"You're the one that's blind," she shot back. "He's twenty-six, he doesn't like teenagers!"

"Oh, please. I was thirty when your mum was eighteen, and I fell in love with her at first sight."

"Uh, yeah, and look how you two turned out."

"Special circumstances," Claude huffed. "Anyways, age doesn't matter if you really love each other. But he's still not allowed to shag you until you're thirty, because even with love, you are much too young…," he added sternly, pointing an accusing finger at his daughter.

Claire looked to the ceiling, groaning. "We don't love each other!" Off Claude's downright defensive look, she changed her wording. "Well…we _do_, but we're not…._in love _with each other."

"That'll change."

"_Claude…_"

"I'm just trying to steer you in the right direction, that's all." Claude waved an invisible truce flag, which Claire could especially not see, due to Claude's…state of being.

"Oh, God, that can't be good," said a blunt voice from behind them. Peter was emerging from the closet, in his dry outfit, having heard Claude's armistice. "Claude's advice usually ends up with me between his fists and the wall."

Even with his crisp clothing, Peter looked as though he hadn't slept in a week. There were bags under his eyes, his half-dry hair was tangled, and his body held itself as though it were made of glass.

"You should go lie down again," Claire advised him. "I'll try to cook something."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Just order out. You're not my maid."

Claire touched his shoulders slowly. "No. I'm your friend."

Pulling her into a loose embrace, Peter realized how blessed he really was. To have a friend, an amazing girl like Claire, stick by his side no matter what he did. She was caring and wholesome, full of so much hope and light that even his darkest hours were illuminated by her aide. He didn't deserve any of this, yet she kept giving. The tables had finally turned. Peter remembered a time, (was it really only last week?) where Claire looked at him as though he could walk on water. She's felt anchored down by debt and now he knew how it was to carry Atlas's burden.

Claude gave Claire a significant glance over Peter's shoulder, and she shot him an exasperated look in return. After pulling back, Claire could still see the hurt and abandon in her friend's face, and she was there, with him, feeling every sharp sting of emotional pain.

"You'll be okay," she assured him with a small smile. "Go get some rest. I'll wake you when I come up with something edible." Peter smiled and thanked her, pressing a grateful kiss to her forehead before turning towards the bed.

As soon as he was facing the other way, his eyes told the real story.


	14. Insomnia

**Dislaimer: I don't own anything**

Hey, just here to post some review alerts. )

Mika: Yup, they will ) I'm a total Paire shipper. In fact, you should be quite satisfied with this three chapter update wink

Smartieepants: Yeah, he killed her alright. But Simone will come back in a certain way in the last chapter. She won't be _back _back but…you'll see!

Thanks to everyone else as well!

**Chapter Thirteen**

"**Insomnia"**

_Peter was strolling a particular grimy street, not quite knowing why or even where he was going. Instinct pulled a cord that rooted itself in his spirit, and the young man was dazedly strung along the streets of Queens at dusk._

_Then all stopped. The cars, the stoplights. Even the smoggy air froze at a standstill before Peter's eyes. And that's when he heard it: the ticking. Loud, insistent chiming that came from no visible source. He turned his head to the left and the ticking got ridiculously louder. Peter winced, rubbing his ears, and read the sign on the shop's broad glass window:_

"_Gray and Sons Watch Repairs."_

_Frowning, Peter pushed through the front door, and was immediately wrenched through a maelstrom. Flying at the speed of light, through the shop, through a little brown door in the back, down the stairs, through various halls, and into a small, wooden cell._

_Where Bennet was now sitting, chained to the wall._

"_Mr. Bennet!" Peter gasped, rushing over to help the poor man. The bespectacled father looked up fearfully at his savoir._

"_No, Peter, you have to go!"_

"_But I'm here, I can get you out!"_

"_Sylar, he's here. It's a trap! You have to leave, now!" _

_Then Peter heard laughter as cold as the waters of the Underworld, and felt a sharp pain to the back of his head. Everything faded to black…_

At two o' clock in the morning, Peter found himself awakening with a start in his fluffy king bed. His breath came heavy and there was sweat upon his brow, but he couldn't for the life of him remember the exact details of the dream. Something about Queens, and Sylar, and Bennet, as well…Bennet said _something_, and then…had Peter _died_?

Groaning, he looked over at the clock, absorbing the time. His early bedtime had screwed over his body clock too, never mind how exhausted he was.

The stiff, fresh, day clothing he had put on just before drifting off might have had something to do with it as well. After stripping down to his boxers and smiling in contentment at the cool night air hitting his skin, Peter plopped back down on the bed and tried to remember the dream. Or at least, attempt sleep. Alas, nothing. He was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and the only thing he could do was distract himself till morning. Or take a few shots of scotch, but he wasn't too keen on drinking so heavily with Claire around.

The blonde had retreated to the couch for another night, which Peter felt a pang of sheepishness about. Careful not to wake her, Peter slid his arms under Claire's knees and back, gently lifting her from the couch. She squirmed a bit in her sleep and he froze. But all she did was snuggle into the crook of his neck and slip back into Neverland. Peter quickly but stiffly walked to his bedroom and laid her down on the bed. Claire sighed in her sleep and sunk into the pillows contendedly as Peter smiled down upon her.

He kneeled down beside her, after pulling the covers up to her shoulders, admiring her golden features in the dark. It was hard to notice the other accents of her beauty, for Peter was always so distracted with her striking blue-green eyes to take in anything else. But now that her lids were down, he could see it all: the smooth, youthful skin of her cheeks, her perfectly groomed eyebrows, and the shapely pink lips the spoke so much kindness.

However, the physical only made up about 10 of the reason why Peter Petrelli cherished the girl two feet in front of him. Claire had a way of seeing the good in him; much like he had the tendency of doing with _other people_, and her habit held no boundaries. There was no way to tell how this came about, their relationship. The bonds they shared were distinct only to them, and it all began with a little Japanese guy with a sword telling Peter to save the cheerleader…to save the world.

It all made sense now. Perhaps the reason he was going to explode was because of his rage, his darkness…and Claire, the cheerleader, was the only one that was able to save him. Or _he _was the one that was going to save the world, but first, he had to be saved. _I take it back, _Peter sighed. _It still doesn't make sense. _

Peter recalled the night that he came home after trashing Claude's cages. The fiery concern that Claire lashed out, and then the soft hand that intertwined with his. He'd promised himself, _vowed _to himself that he would never go "there" with her after some of the thoughts that marqueed through his brain that night. At the time, he saw it as perverted, wrong, and inappropriate considering their age difference. But now that he considered it, the age difference wasn't all that big a deal. _It's just nine years. When she turns twenty, I'll _still _be in _my _twenties. _

Plus, it wasn't even the practicality of the issue anymore. Her affection and perseverance had saved him from "the dark side," not to mention save his life. Again. Some more. Maybe…_maybe_…that's how things were _supposed _to work out. Peter didn't know much about real life damsel-savior (or in this case, dude-saviorette) relationships, so he really couldn't judge.

And, of course, there was the matter of how _she _felt, which was even more important then Peter's vague sentiments. He could adapt his emotions. Claire was much more firm and less spontaneous, specific, and always strong. If she had feelings for him, she'd take him to Cloud Nine, but if she _didn't_….Peter knew he'd be waist-deep in awkward conflict.

Lastly and unfortunately, any thing that he and Claire could _possibly _have together would have to be postponed until after the world was saved. Or, at least until after Bennet was safely rescued, and Sylar decapitated. Relationships bonded by ordeal were said to never work out, but if Claire could get a glimmer of her old life back…

…would she flock back to it and leave Peter behind, or merge the two worlds as one?

_You're thinking too much, _Peter scolded himself. _Don't worry about that. She's not going to leave you, not after all you two have been through. Bloody idiot. _

Peter frowned and realized that his inner voice was speaking in British tones. He stood up from beside the bed and looked around shiftily. As Peter suspected, Claude was lazily leaning in a dark corner, watching his pupil admire his daughter.

"What are you still doing here?" Peter rasped, clearing his throat mid-way.

"Just watching over Claire. She was doing a lot while you were asleep. There's some leftovers for you in the fridge, if you want 'em."

Peter pouted "Why didn't she wake me up?"

"Ah, she said you looked so peaceful while you slept. Didn't want to disturb you." Claude was oddly serene, and Peter surmised it was probably the late hour that was to blame.

"And," Claude continued, "I reckon you show her the same courtesy. Come, let's take a walk." He gestured into the kitchen, and Peter looked back, confused. But after Claude led through the kitchen and dining room, then onto the wrought iron fire escape, Peter understood.

"We all make mistakes, Peter," Claude announced frankly, "but yours shouldn't be treated like one. You were just plain thick and the only way you can redeem yourself is-,"

"-forgive myself first, yeah, Claire told me," Peter grumbled back. Claude shook his head.

"Bollocks to that. Sure, forgive yourself all you want, but that's not gonna make _other _people forgive you. Humans don't give something for nothing. There always have to be a payoff in the end. What you need to do is do something for these people to show they can trust you. Show that you actually have a brain."

Peter slumped against the railing. "I don't know if I'm still myself. I'll never be normal, really."

"Save the world, Peter. People wouldn't care if you were purple and had horns if you do that," Claude said lowly. Peter scowled back.

"Saving the world is not a bargaining chip, and if you even go near saving Bennet...!"

"What do you mean, save Bennet?" Claude's brow knitted. Peter cocked his head.

"Claire didn't tell you about that? Her adoptive father was kidnapped by Sylar."

. "Sylar?"

"Gabriel. The cannibal murderer guy."

"Oh." Claude groaned. "Well, she told methat her father was missingbut I had no idea that _Bennet _was her foster daddy-o."

Peter snorted in response. "Uh, Bennet's also her last name."

"I didn't know her surname either!" Claude snapped. "Excuse _me_ for hanging around you vague blighters!"

Bringing his fingers thoughtfully to his lips, Peter asked, "So what's up with you and Bennet?"

"He was the one that shot me so many times I fell over the side of a bridge and turned permanently invisible, not long after Claire was born," Claude replied bluntly.

Peter felt like a stone had just been dropped into his stomach. Luckily, he wasn't drinking anything, or it would have gone spewing out into the New York night air.

"He _what?!" _Peter sputtered.

"On orders from The Company. I was hiding Claire's mum Meredith and they found out about it. So they sent Bennet to kill me for treason. And I hope that now you understand why I'm not a people person."

"I understand it, but you're still wrong," Peter replied defensively. "Claire's dad pulled a leaf out of your book. He was hiding Claire from the Company after she manifested-,"

"They _do _generally dislike when people do that."

"-yeah, so, and then he left them, with Parkman, to go hunt down Sylar. Claire ran away right before that to come see me, because she didn't trust her dad anymore. She snuck away from her family right after Ted Sprauge blew up their house."

Claude smirked. "He's one cheeky bastard, ol' Bennet. Better late then never though, I suppose."

"I told Claire I'd try to find him, so we can go rescue him. And then I just had a dream about him. If I can remember where exactly he was…"

Claude sighed. "I think you just found yourself a new bribe for your superfreak friends, then."

Peter waved his hands around. "It's not a game, Claude! I want to save him because I care about Claire!"

"It doesn't matter what you want it to be. It's what _they _want it to be. History is just a set of lies agreed upon, lad. Welcome to Lesson Number Two: People Suck In Packs."

Peter moaned, leaning against the brick wall. "You need to get over it. What's it been, seventeen _years_?"

"Only sixteen," Claude retorted.

"_Only,_" Peter facepalmed. "Look, here's a lesson for you. Just…learn to move on, okay?"

Claude got up in Peter's face angrily. "How can I get over it when I wake up every day with no reflection? I've spent sixteen years without my daughter and lady in my life because of that damn company, sixteen years of invisibility! You take it for granted, being able to turn it on and off."

He backed off, and started fuming on the other side of the fire escape. Peter's eyes were downcast, and he recalled the day that he had contemplated this very matter.

"I'm sorry," Peter said quietly, "It's just…"

He couldn't even finish a sentence, because he had utterly no idea what to say back to Claude. Truth was, Claude was totally right to remain angry. The Company had ruined his life and stolen his family away from him. There was no getting back Claire's childhood, or Meredith's love. If only he could become visible again, just get a piece of his old life back, Claude could get over his grudge.

"Now I might not have let my anger go yet, but at least I don't bottle it up like you," Claude added, still looking out onto the cityscape. "I do actually _express _the rancor."

Peter frowned back. "How's that any better?"

Claude finally turned his head towards the brunette. "Look what it did to you. You've been wonderin', haven't you? How you ended up on that dark edge. You've got your answer right there; all your life you've let people walk over you, put you down. You're a kicked puppy that doesn't want to bite back, and all that pent up emotion got to be too much. You need to learn to channel that, Peter, recycle it. It was too much when you lost control, it ate you up. But the truth is, you're better then that fury, you're stronger then it..."

"I never thought I'd hear a 'believe in yourself' monologue come out of _your _mouth," Peter replied sardonically. Claude shrugged.

"You'd be a fool to hit the roof when you've got so much to live for. You're young; you've got your whole life ahead of you. You've got people that care about you, that love you. My life is over_. I_ can afford to hate

the world."

Peter rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Claude Raines, always the exception to the rule."

"Tomorrow's another day, mate," Claude continued. "Pick yourself back up and work on the bigger problems."

"Like Bennet."

"I really do hate that man," Claude muttered, "but he is important to Claire, so you'd better go save him." He clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder and turned to leave. "Go get some sleep. Maybe the dream'll come back."

Peter smirked at Claude's attempt to be nice. "I think I've had a good influence on you."

Claude guffawed. "_You? _If I had been influenced by you, a few people would be dead by now." Peter grimaced, a barb pricking his heart at the memory of Simone. _I guess he hasn't gone soft after all._

Peter mused this over so much, he didn't even notice the invisible man leave. He sat down on the creaky metal steps, fourteen stories up, and looked out onto the city which he was on the brink of destroying.

Maybe Claude was right. Saving the world was the path to redemption, and not just from a material point of view. Peter wasn't set to care about other's views of him. He didn't want to be seen as a murderer, but this concern was on the backburner for now. Peter needed _personal _salvation. Even after Claire's kind words, and the fact that he was done with being dark, Peter still felt guilt about all that he'd done. _I killed Simone. I almost killed Matt. I pushed everyone away, trashed Claude's roof, hurt Nathan. Am I really done with it, or am I just good until I get angry again? _This was a prospect that mystified and scared him all at once.

Following Claude's advice for once, Peter stood, wiped the rust off the back of his boxers, and headed inside. He pulled a blanket from his linin closet and headed to the couch, taking one last look at Claire. The girl was still out, smiling in her sleep and curled up in his covers. Sleep did not come easily for Peter, but eventually, he too felt the dark blanket start to smother him as his mind took him to the world of dreams and nightmares.

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment**

Claire nearly dropped her glass of orange juice when Peter told her about his dream.

"You saw him! Where is he? Is he okay?"

Peter looked away and sympathetically said, "I don't really recall. He's in Queens, and I remember a lot of ticking, like a clock, too. Then your dad was frantic, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you what he was saying."

"He's so close," breathed Claire, closing her eyes. "We should go to Queens. Maybe you'll be able to actually sense Sylar from there."

"Yeah…," Peter replied, a knot suddenly building in his stomach. Something was off about this situation, but he couldn't quite place it. His instincts were going haywire in paranoia. _Just stress, _he thought absently.

"And now that we have a lead, we should call Matt Parkman. He's a good man, he wants to help me."

Peter made an unpleasant noise. "Sure he wants to help _me_? I did almost kill him, remember?"

That on top of the fact that Peter was still slightly irked at requiring _help _on this mission. Whether he was the cop or the robber, Peter still had the raw ability to take Sylar on his own, and he knew it. Luckily, his practical conscience stepped in to calm him down, reminding him that power is only as good as the training you have to use it. Which he, admittedly, did not have nearly enough of.

Claire's smile was confident. "Like I said, he's a good man. He'll give you the benefit of the doubt. What about Nathan and Isaac? And those guys that from Vegas?"

"I'm nowhere near ready to level with Isaac or my brother yet," Peter murmured seriously. "But what guys from Vegas? I haven't heard anything about that."

"Oh, there's these two Japanese guys. I think one was named Hiro- Isaac said that he can teleport- and they went to go steal a sword. A blonde stripper, who they said was Hiro's friend's girlfriend or something, helped them. All three are coming here to New York. They should be here by now; they left yesterday morning."

Peter nearly laughed at the craziness of the story, but he squarely replied, "The other one's name is Ando. I met him at the Burnt Toast Diner the night I went to go save you."

Claire grinned nostalgically. "You went to Burnt Toast? I love that place; Zach and I ate there all the time…" Her smile drooped at the memory of her amnesiac best friend as Peter continued.

"I've only talked to Hiro Nakamura on the phone, but I did meet his future self."

Claire nodded. "Oh, you mentioned that yesterday. He was the one that told you to save me?"

"Same guy."

"Then I'll have to thank Hiro when I see him," Claire beamed shyly.

Peter's lips turned up in the smile that Claire had missed. "Me too. But anyway, I don't know the blonde woman they're with. Hiro and Ando were traveling alone as far as I know."

"Are you on their good side?"

"We don't really know each other, but they seem like sweet guys. Hiro obviously likes me in the future."

Claire looked at her watch. "Alright, it's two o' clock now. I'll call Matt on my cell and tell him to meet us in Queens somewhere."

"There's a café called Lazeeza Coffee Shop. Tell him to go there."

"Do you have a way to get in touch with Hiro and Ando?"

"I think Ando's number is still in my cell phone history," Peter nodded.

Claire took a final swig out of her glass and set it in the sink. "Good. Tell them to meet us at three thirty."

She walked off to go call Matt, and Peter found himself smirking at her breezy shift into a decision-maker. Normally, he'd feel slightly petulant that a seventeen year old girl was giving him orders, but Claire pulled it off well. She'd always been mature, but she was close to being a woman. A strong and beautiful, yet caring and gentle young woman that was starting to charm Peter more then _he'd_ like to admit. Then again, Claire's days of being a teenage girl had ended that first time she saw her skin knit back together.

When Claire disappeared into the master bedroom, Peter grabbed his charging cell phone from off of the counter. Rifling through past calls, he thankfully saw Ando Masahashi's cell number still in the database. Seriously praying that neither of the Japanese businessmen had seen Simone's corpse yet, he dialed the number and held his breath.

**Matt Parkman**

**The Rose Gazebo Hotel, Brooklyn**

Matt felt his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket and grimaced. Even the ten bucks worth of traveler sized aspirins he had bought from the hotel gift shop weren't doing much to dull his chest pain. He never really believed in "that's going to hurt tomorrow" until now, when his heart ached a hell of a lot more then it did yesterday.

It was with annoyed reluctance that Matt reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his Katana, but when he saw the name on caller ID, all previous frets were abandoned.

"Claire? God, are you alright? Where are you?" he immediately blurted into the mouthpiece.

"I'm fine, I'm at Peter's." Claire could hear Matt's groan from across the phone lines.

"That can't be good."

"Actually, it is. He's back to normal now. Fixing him was…rough…but I think this time it's gonna stick. He learned his lesson and he wants to help."

It took Matt a good few seconds to mull it over. "So he found your dad?"

"Almost. He said that Dad's in Queens, and he can get s better sense for Sylar if we go there. Can you meet us at Lazeeza Coffee Shop at three-thirty?"

"I can make that, but Claire…I still don't know…are you _sure _we can depend on Peter? I mean, he just killed Simone Deveaux not a day ago!"

Matt could hear Claire's stern look. "It was an accident. When I came home and saw him..Matt,he felt so guilty…" She struggled to put into words what she had witnessed, but it only gave her a tight chest and stinging eyes. Claire chose not to divulge any details.

"Fine," Matt groaned, knowing he was going to regret this. "I'll see you at three-thirty."

He heard a dial tone on the other end of the line.

_Doesn't anybody say goodbye anymore?_

A/N Alright, I've totally manipulated the Company Man backtories and stuff, but here is what the back-story of THIS story is, in case it wasn't clear:

Meredith was trained by Claude, who worked for The Company with Bennet, eighteen years ago. Meredith got pregnant with Claire. Claude kept Claire and Meredith safe from the Company, but the bad guys found out. They sent Bennet to shoot Claude, just like how it happened on the actual show, except it was 16 years ago, not 7, like in canon. Then, they went to go bag Meredith, but she started a fire. They still got her out of the house though, and Claire was left inside. Claude followed, permanently invisible, and rescued Claire from the fire, setting her outside to wait for Meredith to come get her. He ran away, for he couldn't be, in his opinion, any use to them invisible. Unbeknownst to him, The Company was there, and they found Claire. They gave Claire to Bennet, also unbeknownst to Claude. He always assumed that she and Meredith had made it out okay. The end.


	15. Fight and Flight

Dislaimer: I don't own anything

**Chapter Fourteen**

"**Fight and Flight"**

"Are you sure you still want to do this?" Peter asked uncertainly, glancing up at the approaching storm clouds.

Claire gave him a confident nod. "What are you so worried about?"

Peter was still staring at his godsend of an excuse, speculating that it might not be such a blessing after all. Both he and Claire were standing near the edge of his roof, high enough to feel the winds of bad weather coming in from the east. After all the plans had been arranged, Claire suggested that they fly to Queens to dodge the hellatious traffic. Peter nonchalantly accepted, but now that the time had actually come…

"Er…"

Putting on her "pretty-please glasses", Claire looked up at him with doe eyes. "Why not? You can tell me anything, Peter."

This, he knew, was fact, so the truth came blurting out of his mouth. "I don't think I can fly."

Claire seemed bemused. "But you can do what we can do, and Nathan-."

"I can't-," Peter tried to find the words to describe his reasoning. "I have to tap into my emotions to use people's powers and…I can't fly because…I don't know what emotion to think about Nathan."

Claire cocked her head frankly and sighed. "Why can't you just….._pick one_ or something?"

"Because it's not that easy!!" Peter snapped back and Claire flinched as though she'd been slapped. At once, he looked to the ground in shame and mumbled a weak apology. Claire sighed again, walked closer to him, and took his hands in hers.

"Listen, I know that you're going through something right now that's hard to control. But you can't just say you're sorry every time and think that's gonna fix it. My dad did that all the time, like 'sorry' could make everything be okay."

Peter finally looked her in the face and saw a taut irateness edging her vibrant features. She was talking about the man they were about to go rescue in vain, and it reminded him of how much of a grudge Claire still harbored. She loved Bennet enough to go save him, but she detested him enough to still recognize that this traumatic situation did not push the past away.

Just like with Peter. He may have come back, at least 90, from the dark end of the spectrum, but the deeds were still demons keeping his footsteps warm. Forgiveness was about repentance, not overshadowing one sin with twelve attaboys. Claude had been wrong again, and now Peter wondered if perhaps his mentor was often wrong on _purpose_, to get Peter thinking. To make Peter figure out the truth on his own.

"I'll never yell at you again," Peter swore, tightening his fingers around hers. Claire gave him a disbelieving look.

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm not," was his soft reply, and all she did was shudder and step away.

"Try to figure out Nathan's power so we can leave already," she said emotionlessly. Peter frowned slightly and closed his eyes, trying to focus on Nathan. But his mind kept meandering to the little blonde in front of him.

What had happened to the gentle Claire that had pulled him from his Baptism and taken care of him last night? Ever since he'd woken up, there was this overly polite awkwardness between them; the same overly zealous friendliness that they treated each other with at the beginning. All this time, and they were back to where they started.

Right now, she was suddenly cold and raw to him, which was even worse. But maybe that's what he needed. A firm hand to beat the last of this out of him. Love was a powerful force, but tough love came in as a close second. Nathan could vouch for that, as a veteran of practicing it. Practically everything he did for or pertaining to Peter, it was out of said affection.

_Get your life straight. I don't want to see you fail. You are forbidden to go out with that girl, because she'll look bad in my campaign and she'll break your heart, and nobody's allowed to hurt my baby brother. God, Peter, you want to be a hospice nurse? Good luck on making minimum wage but I'm still proud of you no matter what, and if you ever need money, just ask, okay?_

Unsaid words, but the feelings and intentions were nonetheless there.

"Peter!" came a shriek to his right.

Peter opened his eyes to see his feet hovering a couple inches off the ground. Claire was grinning at him, back to her normal good-nature, and he finally understood what she had been doing. _I needed Nathan so she gave him to me. You're brilliant, Claire._

"C'mon, before I lose it," he instructed hastily, beckoning her over to him. Claire did as he suggested, hooking her arms around tightly around his waist and pressing her face against his chest. Peter shivered, but still rested his chin on the top of her head and splayed his hands across her back as planned.

"There are more convenient ways of doing this," Peter admitted bluntly, "but if I carried you then your hair would get all in my face and I'd end up flying us into the Empire State Building or something." Claire merely snorted in reply.

Gripping onto the girl a little more tightly, Peter shot up into the sky, evoking a yelp from Claire. Peter chuckled shamelessly at her expense.

"Show off," Claire grumbled, still shivering in his hold.

Peter grinned, but took it at a moderate speed from then on, for her sake. As they flew over the river and Brooklyn Bridge, Claire, who seemed to have calmed down considerably, looked up at him.

"Aren't they gonna find it weird that there's two people flying across New York?" she asked, her eyes closed languidly as she listened to his heartbeat. His chest vibrated under her cheek as he replied.

"Oh, I've got us invisible right now. The only things that can see us are rats and three types of monkey."

"Mmm," Claire murmured, not even bothering to point out the ridiculousness of his claim. It felt like being on a roller coaster when she couldn't see what was going on; swoops downward and the wind whipping through her hair. Of course, she wasn't quite as cozy as this on Space Mountain.

In recent days, her feelings for Peter had been like a thrill ride too, only with more stress then amusement. First there had been a shy hero-worship, then that ever-trusting bond of real friendship, and then an absolute worry for Peter and the people around him. However, she hadn't quite felt the same after yesterday evening. It wasn't her actual attraction to him…as her school counselor would say, the "unresolved sexual tension" was still in tact. But before, there was one thing about Peter that no one else could quite duplicate, something that made him different from the other guys Claire had liked: he made her feel completely safe.

Now, that_ that_ was pretty much gone, Claire had no idea what to think anymore.

She let her mind wander to fantastic places, sunk deeper into his embrace and tilted her nose to inhale his scent. Claire's mouth turned into a small smile when she recognized it. Peter actually had an entire Calvin Kline gift set (given to him by, of course, Nathan) and couldn't pick his favorite. Claire, being the only female around at the time, tried them all and decided that Eternity was the most Peter-esque of his compilation. The fact that he was wearing that very cologne now spoke more than just 1000 words to her.

It wasn't enough, though. No matter how much she forced herself to find these good little Easter eggs, it still didn't make her feel any more secure in his arms. That would come when it was ready, and with The Fates just itching to snip their threads of life, Claire was getting rather impatient. She truly wanted to trust him again, but her heart just wouldn't let her.

Contrary to Claire's bottomless and frustrated musings on their flight, Peter's were much more breezy and intoxicated. Mostly, they were just a rehash of his thoughts from the previous night: he was in too deep with this girl, but did he really care? So what if he's nine years her senior? They weren't "the seventeen year old and the twenty-six year old", after all. They were simply Peter and Claire. The dreamer and the cheerleader. Rapunzel and the Prince. Besides, with their powers, they were probably immortal anyway. This was an observation that gave Peter an epiphany that completely obliterated any doubt in his mind.

Claire was to live forever, alone, meaning that she could never be in a true relationship with someone, never get married, have children, or anything that God intended for every human. The only way that Claire could fulfill her natural feminine duty to the universe would be to find a male immortal. And Peter, of course, was the one person that could provide this. The _one_ person. And if that wasn't destiny, then Peter would gladly take eternal beatings from Claude.

He touched down in an ally, shifting them into the visible spectrum when they were entirely on the ground. Oddly enough, he waited a few seconds before letting Claire slip out of his grasp. She could feel Peter's face buried in her hair, and his lips just barely grazing her cheek as he pulled back.

"Er…c'mon," he rasped, attempting to clear his voice. "The café's right across the street."

Matt Parkman was already seated at a large round table in the back corner of Lazeeza Coffee Shop. When he heard the _ding _from the door chimes and saw Peter and Claire walk into the restaurant, he quietly hailed them over.

Peter approached behind Claire, his eyes so downcast that he nearly bumped into a waitress. He didn't need to be a super human to sense the weariness that was radiating off Matt. The nurse and his roommate slid into the round booth, and faced Matt.

"You said you sensed him here in Queens?" Matt asked civilly. Peter was thankful for the other man's efforts to not start something, and Matt must have overheard this particular train of thought.

"Listen, Peter," he sighed, after Peter didn't answer his first question. "You messed up big time, man, but save the guilt for tomorrow. We're…we're all fighting the same guy, here, now, remember?"

"Why are you trying to reassure me?" Peter replied grimly. "You're the one that's shaking in your boots."

"I don't know what to believe out of you," Matt shrugged. "You've done some bad stuff, Peter, and I really can't trust you. But to get back Claire's dad, I'm gonna have to. Can I trust you with _this?_"

Matt brought up an excellent point. They were on a mission, and if Peter didn't get his head in the game, if he let himself be distracted by the dark emotions within, they would surely fail.

Peter nodded solemnly, feeling like a little boy being punished. "I understand. Hold on, I'll try to get a better feel on Sylar from here, okay?"

Claire and Matt didn't protest, and Peter closed his eyes in concentration. There was nothing to be seen from a bystander's point of view, but inside of Peter's head was a maelstrom. He felt Matt and Claire beside him immediately, and then tried to branch off a little wider. Not far away from the coffee shop was a large beige- Peter didn't even know _what _to call it- _thing _advancing in their direction. That wasn't Sylar though; it had a sense of purity and innocence about it that could not be matched with their nemesis.

Then, he felt it. The first waves of Sylar, a barely- there sensation that he was just sensing the edges of. Peter strained himself to expand his radius even more, and Sylar spiked, making Peter wince at the sudden onslaught of power. Claire almost reached out to touch him in concern, but Peter's breathing steadied and she pulled her hand back. There…just a little bit away, in a general…northeast-ish direction. The core of Sylar could be felt by Peter, and it was the most raw, potent aura that Peter and ever sensed.

"He's really close," Peter managed to whisper to Matt and Claire. "I can almost feel him at my fingertips."

"Where is he? How do you know it's him?" Claire asked frantically.

"I think he's just a few blocks away….up the street and to the right, maybe. And he's so powerful; it's like he's washing out everyone else. Besides, I think I can only sense people I've met before. Like it's an extension of my empathy. And Sylar's definitely the strongest person I've ever met."

Peter opened his eyes, blinking to clear the stars in front of his vision, and continued his train of thought. "Whenever I take someone's power, it creates this irreversible bond. Maybe it's so strong, that I can actually feel them from then on." He then remembered that other, unknown person that he had sensed. "The only weird thing was-,"

A chime from the café entrance interrupted him, and he turned around in his seat to find three people standing in the doorway. One was a short, cheerful Japanese guy with a sword, another he recognized as Ando Masahashi, and the third was a stunning blonde woman in a black suit.

"Never mind," Peter announced. "I just got my answer right there."

Hiro, Ando, and the blonde made their way over to the table of "superfreaks." Peter was right away cynical that this tiny, thin blonde could be of any real strength. But when he got a closer look, he saw a cockiness and dangerous quality about her just in the way she carried herself.

"Jessica," she introduced herself coolly, extending a hand towards Peter. He shook it and said his own name, grimacing at her iron clutch. She released him and he rubbed his hand, dumbfounded.

"Strong grip," he told her lamely, and Jessica smirked in return. She went to shake Matt's hand as well, but he coughed, and awkwardly just waved at her, mumbling his name.

Hiro wasn't nearly as suave in his introduction. He jubilantly plopped down next to Peter and shook his hand vigorously.

"Petah Petrelli-o! It is very good to meet you! Your brot-tah is b-erry nice!"

Peter snorted. "Are you sure you're talking about Nathan?" he asked, giving Claire a significant look. She smiled back slightly, but Hiro honestly didn't get it.

After everyone was gathered around the round table, Matt was the one to get the ball rolling.

"Alright, first off, we need some sort of attack plan," he began, and it really sank in to Peter and Claire how violent and deadly this could actually get.

"I'll go in with Matt and we can fight Sylar," Peter suggested. "Jessica can protect Claire at the door, and-."

"Whoa, rewind," Claire disrupted him. "What do you mean 'protect me by the door?' I'm not even allowed to go in and save my own father?! I'd like to remind you that I can't get hurt."

Her eyes blazed in fury at him, and Peter reconsidered.

"Fine, you can come in," he restated reluctantly. "But stay close to me."

On any previous day, Claire would have been flattered and calmed by his condition, but not today. She didn't need _his _protection, if any at all, and this was her idea in the first place. Still, she sat back in the leather booth and kept her mouth shut lest Peter changed his mind.

Hiro looked at the group and valiantly declared, "I have my sword now. I stop time and kill brain-man."

No one made any objections to this option, but Peter was stroking his chin in thought.

"Well, we know we're gonna need two groups," Matt acknowledged. "One to kill Sylar, and one to save Bennet. Then, we'll need one person to be some sort of distraction if required."

Everyone's eyes eventually ended up on Peter for some reason that he couldn't quite fathom. He sat up and addressed them all when he had the schematics for a reasonable plan drawn out in his head.

"How about this? Matt and Claire go to save Bennet, since technically they're the two least powerful when it comes to fighting…no offense, guys. Plus, that'll let Claire save her father, _and _it'll provide a strong person to protect her and Bennet."

There were murmurs of approval throughout the group, and even Claire found it decent. However, Ando pointed out:

"But I am the least powerful. I don't have a power at all, so…why don't I help save the man?"

Peter seemed to have taken this into consideration. "You can be the distraction, Ando. Distract Sylar so that Hiro can get him with the sword."

"Wait," Claire remembered. "Can't Sylar survive, like, anything? Peter, he fell of the roof with you at Homecoming and got back up."

"Uh-huh, and I put three bullets in the bastard and he didn't even leave blood behind," Matt agreed.

Jessica sneered at the motley crew. "Oh, trust me. He won't be around when _I'm _done with him."

Hiro and Ando both nodded enthusiastically. "Jessica is very strong," Ando told them. "She helped us get the sword as revenge on Mister Linderman. We told her to come with us, to New York, to be a hero."

Jessica looked at Ando boredly. "At first, I said no, but then I remembered that heroes get well-paid. Save a guy's life and you'll get Ellen _and _Oprah giving you shit. It's stupid, but since I'm down two mill because of Niki…" Her face turned sour and she didn't continue, merely glaring at her reflection in the window.

Peter reorganized his mental map and decided, "Okay, so, Jessica can take down Sylar while I use telekinesis to hold him? That'll allow Hiro and Ando to follow Claire and Matt. They can use the sword to break any bindings, then Hiro can teleport them out of there."

"I'm not-o sure that I can teleporto more then justa me," Hiro cringed sheepishly. Peter moaned and buried his face in his hands. Matt stepped in sympathetically.

"Once Sylar's dead, we can just walk out the place anyway, so it really doesn't matter. We don't _have _to have Hiro be able to teleport."

Peter looked up and shot Matt a grateful look. "Yeah, good point. And if we _have _to teleport, I might be able to mimic it or…"

"Just, whatever," said Claire tiredly, holding her palms up. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

A loud thunderclap suddenly sounded and shook the whole coffee shop. Expectant tension filled the air, and a couple seconds later, the rain started to pour from the sky. Claire groaned and slumped against the red patent leather.

"As if things couldn't get worse," she muttered.

"We'd better go," Peter recommended seriously. "The less time we waste the better."

"Are you kidding? You want to go out there in that rain and try to find the guy?" Matt said incredulously.

"Trust me, I will keep us from getting wet," Peter explained, exasperated. "Now can we leave, already?"

This time, the band of ordinary people with extraordinary abilities actually decided to listen without protest. All six pushed their way out of the café and headed out into the streets of Queens. Jessica, Hiro, Ando, and Matt all frowned as they walked through the pouring tempest, to find that not a droplet of water ended up on them.

"You're doing this?" Jessica asked Peter dubiously. He shrugged and pointed up, where all of the rain was being blocked by an invisible force.

"Telekinesis," he exposited tersely.

"That's what you can do? You move things with your mind?" Jessica surmised. Peter arched an eyebrow.

"One of a couple dozen," he replied pointedly, and then walked ahead, leaving Jessica stopped in her tracks. Claire caught up and walked alongside the taller blonde. There was no effort from either woman to make small talk.

Peter led the group down a crosswalk and right turn. He strode ahead some more before coming to an abrupt halt on the left side of the street. Luckily, his chosen spot of delay was under an overhang, and the five others huddled together underneath it.

"Why have we stopped?" Claire inquired breathlessly. She watched on as Peter closed his eyes and raised his arm vertically. Slowly and carefully, he reached out, and turned to his left until he was stretching towards the door. Peter opened his eyes and nearly froze to the core in the cold rain.

The others were totally clueless, but it all was coming back to Peter now.

"Gray and Sons Watch Repairs," he gasped, running his slender fingers over the black text on the glass. "This was the place in my dream; I'd forgotten about it! Sylar's in _here_!"

"Sylar?" asked Matt. "I'm gonna need a little more proof then a dream and a hunch, buddy."

Peter's dark eyes flitted across the words on the door, and came to one that sent him reeling even more.

"Right there," he murmured, pointing to it. "That's…that's it. You can ask Claire for proof on this one."

Claire followed his finger to the words _Head Repairman: Gabriel Gray_ and her heart almost stopped as well.

"He's right Matt," she choked. "Before Peter knew Sylar's name, he thought about the murderer and decided to call him Gabriel. Peter said it felt right and…" She was out of words. There was no denying that this was, without a doubt, where Sylar was keeping her father. To be so close to rescuing him made Claire's stomach flutter in fear, excitement, and borderline elation. But there could never be true happiness within her being until she saw him, touched him, again.

Peter gulped and grasped the doorknob. "Is everyone ready?"

Hesitant nods all around, except from Jessica, who was leaning confidently against the window.

"Here goes nothing."

He twisted the handle, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. Peter's only hope was a solemn prayer to God that this would not be the last time that his allies felt the rain.

**Part Two**

_**A/N**__ I tried my hand at a little Japanese and know I totally spelt it wrong, but I tried to write it out as how it sounds to my ear. If anyone knows the correct spelling, please tell me, and I'll correct it._

Gabriel Gray's watch shop had an odor to it that tempted Peter to sneeze upon entering. It wasn't a particularly dusty smell, but the atmosphere of old, rotting, antique time pieces; former glories that had been shelved and abandoned.

The most bizarre thing was, though the shop had an aura of death and muskiness, it was impossible not to hear all the clocks ticking, and chiming, and ringing. How could a room full of decay and disrepair be so alive?

Behind Peter were his five comrades, all following him slowly until everyone was in. None of the lights were turned on, save for a couple oil lanterns on the side table. Using telekinesis, Peter gently turned on the electric lamps, casting a dim, eerie, yellow glow across the shop.

Matt looked around candidly. "No one's here."

"Shh," murmured Peter, putting a finger to his lips while gradually extending a hand outward. He was getting an incredible sense of Déjà vu and knew it had to be from his dream. If only he could remember! He could recall the bomb dream in almost perfect detail; why not this one?

_Because you watched that one for two straight weeks while in a coma, _he remembered decently.

"Hey, hold on a second," Matt said, squinting and cocking his head. "I hear someone's thoughts. Claire, I think they're your dad's!"

Claire was at his side instantly. "Where is he? What is he thinking?"

However, no matter how hard Matt pressed on his temples, he couldn't get anything that clear. "I'm not sure; we're too far away. Follow me. I'm gonna trail his thoughts."

"Check the basement. Brown door in the back," Peter instructed absently. Claire whipped her head around and stared at him, aghast.

"H-how did you know that? Have you been here before?"

Peter frowned, running a hand through his hair. "I think…it was from my dream."

Matt nodded and clasped his hand around Claire's arm. They stumbled to the door together, and the honey-haired young woman kept her eyes locked with Peter's the whole time. It was the first time it really sunk in…the fact that their current lingering gaze could be their last. Once she and Matt descended down the stairs, all hell was bound to break lose on the ground floor. Sylar was going to be after Peter, and there was a chance that he could die in the fight. Claire's limbs were shaking from anxiety and Matt tried to pull her stubborn form through the basement door.

"Come on, Claire!" Matt hissed, tugging on her wrist.

"Peter…" Claire whispered fearfully, speechless other then that. Peter didn't need to read her thoughts to tell exactly what was going through her mind. It was identical to his own worries; he might never see Claire again.

"Go, get your dad, Claire," Peter replied softly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eventually, she gave in, and the last thing he saw before the creaky wooden door slammed shut was a flash of blonde curls.

Jessica, Hiro, Ando, and Peter moved closer together, into the center of the room.

"Sylar's probably upstairs," Peter said quietly. "Jessica, Hiro, and I will go look. Ando, wait down here and make sure Claire and Matt get out alright."

"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," growled a voice behind them that turned Peter's blood into the River Styx.

"Sylar," he breathed, turning around. "How did you just-,"

"Hear you?" Sylar was perched at the top of the staircase, the one that led up to his loft. His tall, lanky, figure was silhouetted by dim light, and he traipsed down the stairs, one little footstep at a time. And with every foot forward, Peter's sixth sense wound tighter, and tighter…

"Nice lady I met in Montana on my way back up from Odessa. _Wonderful _ability. Took a while to get used to, though…" Sylar reached the base of the stairway and stopped, just…staring at his company. "I'm sure I know why you're here."

Jessica was the one that spoke up with a smug scoff. "If you _knew _we were here to kick your ass, why'd you come down the stairs?"

Sylar's sneer matched hers and he chuckled, shaking his head. "I hope _she's_ not your leader."

While Sylar was bantering, Peter gave Hiro a significant nod that implied a change of plans. _Stop time and kill him while he's distracted. _However (and even later they still weren't sure if Sylar did it because he understood their plans, or if he just had bad timing), they themselves had a little disruption on hand when Sylar telekinetically threw Jessica into a wall.

"No!" yelled Peter, rushing over to the fallen blonde. She appeared to have been knocked out as soon as she hit the surface, possibly even worse. But before the nurse could reach the woman, he felt and force holding him back, then shoving him against the far wall.

Hiro and Ando were quivering under a workshop table, protected from the chaos. Ando was of no use, but Hiro desperatly tried to stop time several times, to no avail.

"I can't do it!" he cried in Japanese to his friend.

"But you have the sword," replied Ando, surprisingly calm. Hiro shook his head vigorously.

"I am too nervous!"

"You can do this, Hiro-kun." Ando put his hand on Hiro's shoulder. "A hero never runs."

Sylar had Peter pinned against a wall with his mind by now and was walking over hungrily. His eyes were pools of brown animalism, a thirst for the ultimate power that nearly made Peter sick to his stomach with rapid fear. He managed to keep down the bile, but his whole body was shaking like a leaf (a feature that he wasn't too proud of showing to Sylar). Peter recalled his conversation with Claude in Columbus Park. _He ingests their DNA somehow, maybe their brain…_

Dear God, Peter did _not _feel like having his brain cut out and eaten today.

Sylar's large hand flew to Peter's throat, and the victim's empathetic senses exploded. Sylar's touch felt like it was leaving burn marks all across Peter's neck, while sucking the life force right out of him at the same time. His entire mind was blank, he couldn't focus, there was nothing he could do except-

"Hiro!!!" he screamed, trying to wiggle out of his invisible bindings with no dice. The round-faced Japanese man stood up from under the table, a "brave face" washed over his features. Hiro squenched up his face so tightly that Peter was afraid he'd have another concussion victim to deal with, but it was successful. The next second, Hiro Nakamura was gone.

In the meantime, Matt and Claire were clambering their way through one lean-to of a basement. They were forced to walk single-file in the tight space, and Matt's wide frame barely fit through at all. Luckily, it there was on chance of getting lost, for the hallway was straight like a desert road. _Unluckily_, Matt felt like he was walking down The Green Mile with the sheer length of the thing. There was no light, but illumination wasn't needed to_ feel_ the corridor go on for ages.

Claire suddenly ran head first into a soft wall. Matt had abruptly stopped, closing his eyes and looking around. He began running his hands over the walls, looking for some sort of handle. Or at the very least, something that resembled a doorway.

Claire caught his drift and started examining the other wall. After a few seconds of blind groping, she felt something cold, metal, and round slip into her grasp.

"Matt!" she gasped and the officer pressed his ear to the door.

"He's in there," Matt confirmed. "But I think he's really weak. Get ready to help me carry him."

Claire would have agreed to anything at that point. She turned the doorknob with the force of a madwoman, even though it was unlocked, and had to stop herself from falling right into the brig.

Sure enough, Bennet was tied to the wall in minuscule, closet sized compartment. _This must be how Harry Potter felt in Privet Drive, _Matt heard the older man think. Parkman chuckled grimly, and followed Claire, kneeling beside her father.

Bennet was barely awake, and most likely dehydrated. Claire fought back tears as she threw her arms around her dad's neck. She felt him stir against her and she pulled back. He blinked through foggy eyes, for his signature horn-rimmed glasses were lying crumpled in pieces on the dirty concrete floor.

"Claire-bear?" he whispered hoarsely, squinting. "That's it, I've gone crazy."

"No Dad, we're really here," Claire beamed in pure relief and elation. "It's me and Matt, we're gonna get you out of here. Peter and the rest are holding off Sylar. Let's go."

Matt had already freed Bennet from several cloth bindings, as the haze over the father's eyes cleared.

"Wait!" he shouted. "Did you say Peter? Peter _Petrelli_?"

"Yeah, Dad, he-,"

"No, no, no…" Bennet said frantically. "He can't be here, you have to go!"

Claire gently put her hands on her father's shoulders, tears of relief morphing into hot droplets of anxiety.

"Dad, Dad, look at me. What's happening, what's wrong with Peter?"

Bennet coughed as Matt and Claire hoisted him to his feet. Claire was still firing hysterical questions like a machine gun, when Bennet interrupted her.

"You need to get out of here, Claire-bear! Just leave me, and run. Sylar wants Peter right now, but once he's done, he'll kill you too in an instant."

Claire and Matt looked at each other in horror, and then turned back to Bennet. Had they heard correctly? The man nodded grimly, as though_ he_ was the telepath.

"This whole thing…it's a trap."

"Yatta!"

Hiro threw his arms up in the air in joy when he saw the frozen, silent figures around him. The time freeze had finally worked. He'd have to go buy Ando a nice stack of waffles later for believing in him.

His chipper mood at accomplishment vanished faster then Claude when he remembered why he was trying to stop time in the first place. Sylar was still holding Peter Petrelli by the throat, pointing his finger at the empath's forehead. If Hiro had stopped time any later, Peter would have been a goner.

Hiro tiptoed over to the brawling duo, removing the ancient katana from his back sheath. Even a few deep breaths later, he was still no calmer. Hiro had never killed anyone before, let alone chop off any heads. In fact, gory movies gave him nightmares. Ando had once talked him into seeing Kill Bill ("Sword fighting and hot women! It's awesome, Hiro!"), and simply the _animated _bloodshed made Hiro turn green.

But this had to be done. If he let Sylar live, then Peter would die. Next, Sylar would turn on Hiro, and then kill the rest of them one by one until misshapen, scalpless bodies littered his shop floor. Hiro could almost hear Princess Leia saying "Help us, Hiro Nakamura! You're our only hope!"

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, Hiro pressed the side of the sword against Sylar's neck.

"_Itch…knee….sun!!!_" Hiro hollered as he slung the blade down. Even though he wasn't exactly an experienced executioner, the cut went slickly through, severing the head from the neck in one good slice. Hiro backed up as speedily as his little feet could take him, covering his eyes with his forearm, and trying not to breathe in the coppery scent of liquid evil. The ticking from all of the various timepieces in the shop resumed, and Peter hit the ground with a loud _thud_, as Hiro started time again.

"Oh my…" Peter wheezed, having fallen face-to-face with Sylar's lifeless, severed head. Peter shut his eyes, disgusted, and scrambled up as quickly as he could. Judging from the instantaneous, at least by Peter's view, decapitation, and the bloody sword in Hiro's hand, Peter connected the dots pretty swiftly. They had finally done it. Sylar was dead as a doornail at their feet, and not even Claire could come back from a death like that. Peter probably would have done a jig had he not been already exhausted.

Stepping over his rival's body, he crossed over to Hiro and thanked him. Hiro bowed politely in acceptance, and sheathed his sword, off to help Ando out from under the table. Meanwhile, Peter paced over to Jessica, who, as he kneeled beside her and gave her a quick vitals check, was going to fight another day. Just not tomorrow.

"C'mon, get up," Peter gently shook her. Her eyes fluttered open, but they show'd no recognition for the man hovering over her.

"W-where am I?" she asked, wincing as she touched the bleeding mark on her forehead.

"Grey's Watch Shop, but we're leaving now, Jessica," Peter replied softly, pressing a hand on her back to help her sit up. The woman turned her head to him at breakneck speed, eyes wide in fear.

"Jessica? No, no, she was…did I…did I hurt anyone?"

Peter reeled back, totally puzzled. He gulped, trying to think up a reason for why this was happening.

"Er…you must have had a concussion when you hit your head. Temporary amnesia, I guess," he murmured, but knew that this wasn't true. Jessica didn't just have a memory hole; her whole personality had done a 180.

"Pet-ah?" asked the timid voice of Hiro from behind him.

"Little busy now," Peter snapped back, not bothering to see what was the matter.

"Pet-ah! Look-o…"

Peter rolled his eyes and granted Hiro's request. He shot the Japanese man an annoyed look. "_What_?"

Hiro said nothing in reply. What he was pointing at spoke enough words already.

It had to be, by far, the most revolting thing Peter ever had the misfortune to see. Even worse then a badly made Sci-Fi Channel Saturday Night movie. What was unfolding before Peter's eyes paralyzed him with grotesque, and he distantly felt Jessica faint beside him again.

Sylar's body was on its feet, the veins in the neck still shooting out blood like Old Faithful. As though he'd done this a thousand times, Sylar picked up his head off the floor, planted it back on his neck, and twisted it with a satisfying _crack_. He took in a large lungful of air, then cracked his neck some more before looking upon his horror-struck company with lucid eyes.

"You fools," he grinned wickedly, shaking his head in delight. Hiro and Ando were fighting not to take a leaf out of Jessica's book and just pass out like Elvis fangirls. Sylar's gaze fell to Hiro, and Ando nearly had to help his friend stand.

"You."

Hiro's hands went to grip his sword, but Sylar's trick was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he had Hiro pinned to the floor with his mind. Thankfully, he didn't even come close to Peter's predicament, because Hiro, unlike the raven haired empath, had a sidekick for times like these.

"No!" Ando yelled a samurai war cry that Hiro had taught him, and leaped onto Sylar's back like an Olympian gymnast. There was really no explaining it logically, as Sylar was a good head, maybe even ten inches taller than Ando. But he was still there, surprising the BeJesus out of Sylar enough to distract the watchmaker. Hiro was free now, leaping off the floor and preparing to stop time again. But Peter returned the favor, and saved both their hides this time, freezing Sylar's feet into the ground.

Ando fell off of Sylar's back and rushed over to his best friend. Peter was on his feet, on the other side of the room, pointing to Jessica.

"Ando, Hiro, protect her!" he instructed, then shot glowering eyes to their enemy. "I'll take care of him."

The two businessmen did as they were told, creating a human barrier between the unconscious woman and the action.

Getting out of his cold feet was easy enough for Sylar, being Peter's benefactor for that particular power.

"So you can do what I can do?" Sylar surmised, seeing the way Peter's head was pieced together like he was looking at one of his familiar watches. Peter made no reply but a scowl, which Sylar took as a yes.

"Then I guess that I've finally found something that we can agree on_, Pete_."

_Don't you call me 'Pete.' My brother calls me that. _As much as Peter would have liked to rip the man in front of him up into little tiny Sylar pieces with Jessica's power, he knew that would be reckless and stupid. Peter was holding up a strong act, but his insides were panting in weariness. Between the sensory overload he'd just suffered, along with the rain and being thrown around, he wasn't feeling too hot at all.

"And what would that be?" Peter eventually decided to grit out, bracing himself for an object to be thrown towards his head. But Sylar didn't move anything; not this time. The smile that crossed Sylar's otherwise handsome face turned Peter inside out, and his instincts knew that this wasn't go to be good in the least bit.

"That super-hearing is a hard one to get used to."

Before Peter could react, Sylar had turned all of the large grandfather clocks in the broad room to exactly midnight. The power that Peter hadn't even noticed he'd absorbed went haywire, vibrated his very organs with its force. Sheer volume poured into Peter's ears and sent him to his knees with erratic screams. Ding… dong….ding….dong…

Not long after Bennet made his grave affirmation, throaty screams saturated with absolute agony came echoing down the basement hall. Claire recognized them immediately and those tears she was fighting back pushed forward even harder.

"Peter!" she cried, taking one step towards the small steps before stopping and turning guiltily back to her father.

"I told you! Leave me here!" Bennet insisted. "Peter _must _live! Without him, Sylar can never be killed."

"I-…Dad…" Claire moaned, shaking her head in conflict. Matt wrapped Bennet's arm around his neck.

"Go help him, Claire. I'll take care of your dad," he assured her.

Claire sniffed back her consent, and wrapped her arms around her dad's waist one last time.

"I love you, Dad," she whimpered into his dusty blazer. Bennet pressed a kiss to her adopted daughter's temple.

"I love you, Claire-bear," he returned, in a blend of half-affection, half-haste. "Now go!"

So she did as she was told. Claire turned on her heel and sprinted into the darkness, which turned out to be a safer place then the light above. Soon, the sound of cries and chimes mingled with the slap of her sneakers, and once she got there, Claire actually hesitated before opening the timber door.

On the eighth pulse of torture to his now-bleeding ears, Peter felt his eardrums explode, temporarily putting him out of his misery. His whole body melted onto the floor, and if he had his way, he would have broken down and weeped, right there, like he had in the shower. But this was in Sylar's lair, and he'd be damned before showing any sign of weakness in front of that odious killer.

Not like he needed to keep up an act though. As soon as Claire pushed her way through the basement door, Sylar's attention was diverted right away. Peter saw him lick his lips in glee, or he was just imagining it, the mix of the pain and the pure unadulterated fatigue weighing him down.

What he knew _wasn't _him imagination was the danger that Claire was in. She backed into the door, not even needing to be held down. The poor blonde was utterly trapped, and Sylar was advancing towards her. Peter pulled himself to a kneel, and summoned up power from the very base of his skull. _I just need one shot, just one…right…now! _

With a roar worthy of a Spartan warrior, Peter practically threw his whole body forward, sending a vast burst of ice right at Sylar. The gust threw the murderer back, and froze solid just in time to pin him to a wall. Peter's one moment of happiness was getting his hearing back in time to hear Sylar's shocked and pained yelp as he hit the sheetrock. Then he collapsed.

"Peter!"

He felt tiny hands pulling him and using a table leg to help him sit. Claire's fingers brushed the hair from his face and cupped his cheeks, insisting that he get up.

"I…I can't move…" Peter managed to breathe out; even his blinking seemed slow and lazy.

"No, you have to get up! That's not gonna hold Sylar forever. Hiro! Help!"

Hiro got up from his place beside Jessica, and told Ando to go ahead and get her out of there. As Ando was gathering Jessica into his arms like she was made of porcelain, Hiro walked over to help Peter and Claire.

"Claire, I…I…" Peter's chest heaved, gulping in breathes. His eyes were far off and dreamy, and he brought cool, icy fingertips to her cheek. Claire gazed at him intensely, when suddenly, the look in his eyes morphed to one of dread.

"I…am going to be sick."

"Uh-oh," groaned Hiro. He and Claire barely were able to pick Peter up and lean him over the table behind them (so clumsily, in fact, that they knocked two lit oil lanterns right onto the floor) before Peter was retching from pain, and God only knew what else.

Claire's heart went out to him a hundred percent. To ease his suffering, she brushed his bangs off his sweaty forehead and stroked his back soothingly while he got sick. When he was done, which really didn't take long considering he had nothing to be sick _from_, he wiped his mouth on the elbow of his sleeve and looked at her gratefully.

By this time, Matt had already brought Bennet up from the lower chambers, and Sylar was nearly done breaking out of his frozen chains.

Hiro caught sight of the rapidly growing fire from the oil lanterns. The wooden floors were dry and rotted, a thriving environment for fire and grease. Both lamps exploded from pressure, and he took a giant step back.

Claire was too busy trying to keep Peter with her to notice. Peter was only half awake, leaning on Claire and the table for support. Claire kept patting his cheeks and gently rocking him, stroking his hair, anything that would keep him conscious.

"Fire extinguisher!" yelped Hiro to Matt, pointing at the blaze that now covered a good five foot diameter.

"Don't have one, I'm afraid," a voice behind them faux-pouted. "I'm just a poor timepiece repairman after all."

"Why won't you die!" snarled Matt, nearly dropping Bennet to body slam Sylar. But he was stopped in his tracks by telekinesis, as were Hiro, Claire, and Peter. Sylar moseyed over to where Claire was cradling Peter's dazed form in her arms.

"How sweet. The cheerleader caring for her hero," Sylar cooed, cocking his head. With a mere blink, he tore them apart, throwing Claire to the floor.

"Stop!" she screeched, as Sylar gripped Peter by the jaw, that last scalding touch shutting down Peter's mind all the way. But there was one person Sylar had neglected to restrain. One he overlooked.

Bennet grabbed two fistfuls of Sylar's trench coat from behind and, with the force of a little old lady lifting a tree off her grandson, threw the sociopath into the roaring lantern fire.

"Go, now! All of you! I'll hold him off!"

Matt was already starting to sling Peter across his shoulder as Hiro went to fetch his sword from off the ground. Claire was the only one protesting and it sickened her.

"No! We came all this way! We're not leaving you!"

"I told Peter I owed him for saving you. When he awakes, I want you to tell him-Claire, you need to listen to me! Claire, I _need you_ to tell him that my last wish was for him to protect you with his life once more."

"No!" screamed Claire, pounding on his chest. "Come with us, I won't let you die! I won't let you-,"

But her pleas were futile. Arms reached out of the fire, flames licking all up and down them, and they grabbed Bennet's ankles and pulled him down into the inferno as well. _No good deed goes unpunished. _

"DAD!!!" Claire shrieked, sobs racking her body in disbelief. It wasn't fair, that she could walk through fire and not get burned, while here it would be the death of her father. And this is what he _wanted_? To die in front of her eyes, when he had the perfect opportunity to escape?

"Come, Cheerleader, we go!" Hiro respectfully put a hand over her eyes, because watching her father get engulfed by flames was like a train wreck: she was aghast and wailing, but she couldn't look away. Hiro pulled her along, her bones and muscles weakly obliging. Pity and heartbreak was obvious in his solemn tones, and Claire smelt burning hopes as she passed through the front door.

A group of civilians was already starting to stare at the fire licking through the shop. Matt was tiredly telling them that it was a kitchen fire, and they barely made it out. Someone call the cops. Innocent bystander sort of things.

Ando wrapped Hiro into a hug as soon as his friend emerged; the one cheerful moment in this chaos. Jessica was still knocked out, and Claire had made her away to the ground, crawling over to Peter's lifeless body. It didn't matter if he was dead or just down for the count, for he'd come back anyway, but she still sobbed in his flaccid arms, tears sticking to his bare, ashy, jaw. At that point, her heart, her soul, her very _being_, had been ripped from under her skin and stomped on, and she didn't care who saw anymore. She just needed Peter again, and didn't realize how much she _did _need him until he was half-dead and not there to help her grieve. Claire wept, and moaned, but even lying against Peter's unaware figure, she still felt one thing return to her: the sensation of being safe again.

"We need to go," Matt announced to them gravelly. Hiro said that he could try teleporting them all. The New Yorkers would be too distracted by the fire to notice. Not wanting to risk losing anybody, Hiro made two trips to wherever he decided to take them; one with Ando, and Jessica, then another with Matt, Peter, and Claire. Hopefully, wherever they ended up would be out of harm's way and quiet.

Then again, compared to the firey house of Grey and Son's Watch Repairs, anything looked like heaven.


	16. Checkmated

**Chapter Fifteen**

"**Checkmated"**

**Central Park **

**New York**

Peter heard the voices first, far off, unhappy murmurs that faded in and out of his hearing. Matt's was the only one he could really recognize, but a couple female tones and Japanese accents appeared every now and then.

Slowly, his other senses returned, with the least useful ones first. Because, that, of course, was how life seemed to work. Peter soon became aware that his mouth still tasted like vomit and wherever he was smelled of cherry blossoms, but this didn't help him figure why the ground was so prickly. Or why the air was so cool. _Or where am I???!!_

"Mmmblgggg….."

"Peter? Peter, are you awake?"

Claire. That was Claire, and she was right beside him. Peter tried to speak, open his eyes, or touch her, _anything_ to reply. The best he could manage was a small nod that she fortunately saw.

"Oh…good…now, c'mon, let's get you up…"

Peter felt small hands on his back and shoulder, trying to prop him in a sitting position, but this plan failed. Claire was tough when the situation called for it, but she didn't have much for muscle. And trying to hold up at least seventy pounds of dead weight proved to be too much for her.

"C-..la…ire…" Peter managed to cough out, lifting his heavy lids and taking an eyeful of the night sky. It turned out that Hiro had teleported them to Central Park, accidentally arriving five hours into the future ("I still need-o practice," Hiro sheepishly admitted). Night had already approached, and the prickyness that Peter was passed out on was just grass.

He didn't see much before a head full of blonde hair flooded his vision. Claire leaned over him, looking him directly in the face, while her long waves cascaded down and tickled his cheeks.

"Are you okay?" she asked, swallowing hard.

Gritting his teeth, Peter nodded, and propped himself up on his elbows with her aide.

"Gonna be," he croaked. Blinking a few times to clear his vision, he took count of his company. "Everyone here? Everyone make it out?"

Claire's face fell, and she looked anywhere but him. "Kind of."

Forcing himself to sit up properly, Peter pressed on. "So…Sylar still has your dad?"

At the mention of Bennet, Claire's tears finally started spilling down her face. "No. My dad's dead. He sacrificed himself so that we all could get out."

"Oh God," whispered Peter, closing his eyes and shaking his head in shock. Pushing away his own emotions, he tried to console Claire by wrapping his arms around her small frame. But even he knew that this was futile. The girl had just lost her own father, and in a way, it had been their fault. Peter's fault for being too weak, and getting knocked out…

"I know what you're thinking," sniveled Claire, pulling back. "You think it's your fault."

Peter's mouth gaped at her ability to read him, before he looked away shamefully. Claire fell into his arms once again.

"If there's one person's fault it _isn't_, then that would be you, Peter. If we didn't have you, we-we'd _all _have been killed," Claire stammered into his shoulder.

"She's right," agreed a baritone from behind them. Matt Parkman stood in just his undershirt, with several strips of cloth- torn up pieces of his regular shirt- slung over his forearm. He kneeled down beside the pair and handed Claire a large, washcloth-sized section. Peter followed her with his eyes as she got up to go moisten it at one of the water fountains.

"You saved a lot of lives back there," Matt continued. "We couldn't have done it without you."

"But Bennet-,"

"He chose his fate," Matt interrupted bleakly. "He could have gotten away. But he didn't want to risk Claire not getting out. He died with a purpose, and I think that's all he really wanted. Don't beat yourself up about it, Peter. You fought as hard as you could, but it was just too late. Sylar planned it from the beginning. It was a trap, all along."

Peter buried his face in his hands, feeling, if possible, worse. The dream. The dream had tried to tell him, but his mind had been on other things that night. He hadn't been paying attention, and it cost the life of someone Claire loved. How long was thing going to keep up; the deaths? First Simone, now Bennet. Who was going to be next? No one was safe, not even Peter himself. And then what about Sylar? The only thing they really _learned _out of the whole experience was that their enemy was literally unkillable.

A cool cloth rubbing against his ear broke him out of his reverie. Claire was slowly cleaning off the blood that had poured out of his pounding ears. Luckily, he wasn't having problems with it now, but he still crossed his fingers that no planes would fly over any time soon.

Speaking of problems, Matt was grimacing and rubbing his chest, as he sat down on a park bench. The two-ton truckful of aspirins he'd chucked down before the fight had killed a lot of his chest pain when it mattered, but stress and fatigue were bringing out the soreness again.

"Hey, I think I can help with that," Peter offered, catching the officer's ache. Matt hesitated and Peter held one arm up innocently.

"I promise, I won't hurt you," he swore, then gestured to one of the strips of torn T-shirt on Matt's arm. Matt obliged, handing him a small piece, which Peter folded into a small square as best he could. Then, summoning up the little power he could, he froze the cloth solid, and handed it back to Matt.

"Wrap it up in another cloth and apply pressure to your right pectoral. Your heart's located right under there. A hot compress would work better, but I don't have that power yet."

"That's right; you're a nurse, aren't you?" Matt recalled, following Peter's instructions. Peter shrugged back and just sat silently, focusing on the feeling of Claire washing away the blood on the side of his face. After he was cleaned up, she headed back to the water fountain, and filled a small Styrofoam cup with water. Peter gulped it down appreciatively, ridding his mouth of the nasty taste that lingered.

"How did that happen to you, anyway?" she asked, once the foam cup was empty.

"Sylar used my power against me," Peter explained gravely. "I absorbed his super-hearing and he set off all his grandfather clocks."

Claire looked both horrified, and realized, "That's why you were screaming."

"I felt my own eardrums rupture," Peter added bluntly. "It was actually kind of a relief, compared to the pain that Sylar was causing me. You think turning up your music too loud is bad? Multiply that by as high as you can count."

Claire squeezed his arm and looked upon him with utmost sympathy. Peter returned the gaze, in respect to her familial loss, and then turned to Matt.

"How are the others? Hiro, Ando, Jessica."

"Uh, Niki, actually. Her name is Niki." Matt scratched his head, bewildered. "We still don't know _how_ to explain it. She doesn't remember a thing. The last thing she remembers is being in Vegas with her husband and kid. Now she's a mess…freaking out about what 'Jessica' has done. I don't know what to make of it. I guess she's just crazy, or something got out of whack when she bumped her head."

"Yeah, she acted the same way when she woke up at the watch shop," frowned Peter. "Maybe she'll be okay after getting a good night's sleep."

"Right. Hiro and Ando are both fine. Weirded out by Sylar, but they'll be okay."

"Did they tell you about what he did? Sylar? W-when Hiro cut off his head?"

Matt squirmed. "Yeah, they did. Said he picked his head right off the ground. He's not human, I'm telling you."

Peter was struck with a coughing fit too soon to reply to Matt's claims. Claire pulled him too his feet, stood flush up against his side, and wrapped her arm around his waist to help him stand. Peter's supported his weight onto her shoulder gratefully, though was careful to distribute it enough so she wouldn't be crushed.

"I'll take you for a walk. It'll help shake off the exhaustion," she expounded, leading Peter away from Matt, the park bench, and the rest of the pack.

After they'd strolled a good distance a way, Matt headed back to the others in their band of mutants. Niki was sitting against a tree trunk, rubbing her head, while Ando and Hiro were still talking in rapid Japanese. Matt wondered if Niki's head hurt because of the bruise, or because she was forced to listen to all the excited gibberish coming out of the mouths of the other men.

Matt smiled at her warmly as he sat down beside her. "Hey. Anything coming back to you?"

"Nothing," Niki replied, dejectedly dropping her hands into her lap. "I can never remember things when Jessica comes. It's just…never been for this long a period before. It's usually just for a couple hours…"

"I still don't know what to tell you, except that Jessica was a hell of a lot different then you," Matt replied, chuckling slightly as he inspected the wound on her temple.

Niki chuckled back wryly as well. "Yeah, I don't make it killing people a hobby."

"Oh," Matt smirked. "I just thought she was a lot bitchier."

"Usually she works for herself though. Jessica would backstab our mother if she was paid enough money. I don't understand…why was she helping you?"

Matt frowned as he readied a bandage for her forehead. "Er...why _our _mother?"

Niki took in a breath. "My sister, Jessica. She was….she died."

Matt put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry," was all he could really say. With the knowledge that Jessica had been a real person, he began to rethink the suspicion that Niki was crazy. After all, she didn't seem mad or raving. She just seemed like a defeated mom that wanted to know what was happening to her. They were both alike, really. Normal people that had their lives turned upside down by the bad timing of evolution and natural selection. Hiro and Peter embraced their abilities, and Claire was warming up to hers. Matt and Niki, however…they were still in the same boat; the little canoe that hadn't left the starting line yet.

Peter and Claire stumbled slowly down one of the park's sidewalks in silence. Claire was used to seeing a sea of glitter whenever she looked up into the night sky, but the lights of New York scared the stars away. It was one of the few things she detested about city-life. There were no front lawns, either, and too much traffic. But this place, Central Park, was like an oasis in the desert. No one was there, and for the first time in good week, Claire saw and felt real grass.

They walked along some more, and without realizing it, Claire's tight clutch on Peter's arm to help him walk had slipped into a lazy clasp on his hand. His posture was relatively straight by now, as a lot of the soreness and fatigue had been shaken off like Claire had suggested it would.

"Peter?" Claire inquired when they were a good distance away from the group. Peter looked down.

"What's going on?"

"There…in Sylar's shop…right after you passed out…my dad…he, um…well, he told me to tell you something. They were pretty much his last words, his last wishes, I guess."

Peter stopped and turned her to face him, moving his hands to her upper arms. "What, what was it?"

Claire dithered. "I'm only telling you because he was so obsessive about it, but you don't _have_ to do this. Remember, it was spoken from _my _dad, so he obviously thinks I'm the most important person on the whole freaking planet…"

"Claire…" Peter pressed on, gently, and she sighed.

"He wants you to protect me with your life. Those were his exact words before Sylar…Sylar pulled him into the fire. But that's unfair, you don't have to-,"

"No," shushed Peter. "I'll do it. I swear, I'll do everything I can to live up to your dad's last wish. It's important, Claire."

The determined look in his eyes dared her to protest any more. And with that, their entire status quo was balanced and restored again. Claire felt back to the way she had when he asked her favorite color, baked her crappy lasagna, and awoke to see him accidentally asleep at her footboard. What was this emotion anyway, that had made her happy to see him at all times, even in the beginning when she barely knew him? Even when he was brooding and out of control? That pleasurable sensation she felt in her stomach whenever he said her name…_Claire. _Peter would always lower his voice, just barely_ sigh_ it out, no matter what he was talking about. This wasn't a crush; Claire knew what those felt like. It was something deeper, but entirely more subtle at the same time.

And staring up into those tenderly piercing eyes in the middle of Central Park…she had an epiphany. She'd been a little bit in love with Peter all along. It was fueled her to care about him, to look after her hero as he had protected her all those times. There was just something about _Peter_ that she hadn't realized that she loved until it was gone; lost into the dark pools of anger and resentment. But now, Peter was whole again, uncorrupted again, and the flood of feelings that Claire felt pump into her bloodstream almost made her swoon.

"I just realized something," she told him, finally able to _really _trust him again. Peter looked down at her expectantly.

"You…make me feel safe again."

"Claire," Peter said, and there he did it again, murmuring out her name like he'd lose himself if he said it louder. Then, he looked her square in the face, and smiled the same way he did in the hallway at Union Wells High.

Unexpectedly, Peter bent down, pressing their foreheads together, and lightly brushed his nose against hers in a barely-there Eskimo kiss. Former bonds, mostly moral, holding him back suddenly shattered. This was the perfect moment in the cloud of chaos that had been floating around their lives for the past few days. All of Peter's other emotions were already drained; why not pour self-control away as well?

With seven days left till the end of the world, what harm could a little affection do at this point?

Peter's hands each roamed their separate ways. The right snaked down and rested on Claire's elbow as the left went upwards, eventually cupping her jaw line. Somehow, Claire hands ended up flat against his chest, and he felt a pleasant shiver squirm under his skin. Admittedly, he would have preferred there be no cloth in between her delicate hands and his toned torso, but she _was _only seventeen…

Still, that wasn't doing a thing to stop him from tilting her face up to meet his, and gently brushing his lips on the corner of her mouth. Even amidst all the tension, he was still inclined to give her a chance to pull back.

Like she was going to have any of _that. _Instead of backing off, Claire hands journeyed up to the nape of his neck, and she pressed her lips full against his. Her vigor spurred his own as she breathed warmth and energy into him, making him stand taller and hold her tighter. Peter took on the task of deepening the kiss while still keeping it tender. That's what Claire deserved; not some antsy make-out session, but a_ real_ kiss fit for a Disney princess.

To Claire, kissing Peter was just like getting a feel of his personality: gentle and sweet on top, but with a pure fire in the underbelly that was begging to get out. He tasted musky, handsome, and quiet, and never had she noticed any of these things in boys she had kissed before. Never how they tasted, or how they made her feel. Just…what _had _she noticed? All those worthless crushes hadn't meant anything at all. None of the drama had, and though adults often complained about how they wished to be kids again, well, Claire liked adulthood quite much. Except for the murder, and the psychopaths, that is.

Peter sucked lightly on her bottom lip, and she opened her whole mouth to him in return. Claire moaned against his lips as he bent her head back slightly and took her mouth with even more passion, and yet it was still difficult to get over the shock that her feelings weren't one sided.

Peter's lungs burned by the time he broke away, and he tried to take in a gulp of air as surreptitiously as possible. Their interaction had left both of their chests heaving and their knees weak, and Claire blissfully remembered that it was only the _first _kiss.

While pulling her into an embrace, Peter vaguely mused that this was the part when the "I love you"s usually came. Of course, it was much too soon for that, so he obviously refrained. But Peter felt the need to say _something. _His heart wasn't empty, and love wasn't an all or nothing sort of deal. The only true fear he harbored was that Claire was simply a phase, a rebound sensation because he'd lose Simone and Claire was the only female around. His feelings _had _come in quite a rush…but what he was about to say was pure and honest, not a doubt in his mind.

"I care about you so much," he whispered, stroking her frazzled tresses. She too was toying with the ends of his hair, tugging and pinching at the little black locks that were starting to curl out at the base of his skull. Claire then sighed and tiredly rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"Me too. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Peter beamed into her hair, but remained silent, simply rocking her back and forth. Eventually, Claire felt a kiss planted to her crown, and Peter's arms slipping away from her body. They weren't gone long, though, for a second later, he had her hand so tightly entwined with his that she couldn't even tell whose fingers were whose.

"We should be heading back to the others," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Mmm," Claire murmured, letting go of his hand and linking her arms around his waist instead. Peter smiled to himself, and let his arm sling across her lower back, hand resting on her hip. It felt so natural, like her body was molded for his. When he tilted his hand to rest on top of hers, they started walking down the sidewalk and back to reality.

Hiro was the first one to notice Peter and Claire's return, and on sight of their intimacy to one another, he ran up and gave them a big group hug.

"Cheerleader and Peta-ah together?"

Peter awkwardly rubbed his neck while Claire gave a small nod in reply. Hiro grinned and gave them another hug while Ando stood in the background, rolling his eyes. He hollered to Hiro in Japanese, probably saying something like "Leave them alone!", for after that, the younger man backed off.

In the meantime, Matt and Niki were over by a large oak tree, Niki venting about her problems while Matt wrapped up the wounds on her forehead. It seemed that the two had hit it off pretty well, being in similar situations with families. Though, Niki was lucky enough to have a whole family of mutants. Matt was the sole freak in his home.

_Aw. Look at them, _Claire thought at Peter, as she pointedly looked at Matt and Niki.

"They're both married. With children," Peter muttered back. Claire simply shrugged in return.

Matt offered Niki a hand up, then they walked over to the rest of their crew. Matt arched an eyebrow at Peter off Claire's arms wrapped loosely around the young man's waist.

"Have a nice walk?" he asked, with a knowing glance.

"Meh. Not bad," Peter replied, drawing Claire closer to him. His expression turned sly, and his eyes flitted towards Niki. "What were _you_ doing?" Matt finally broke out into a grin.

"I love my wife," Matt assured him. "Besides, we're gonna need all the good feelings we can get after what just happened."

Claire felt a pang in her heart at the memory of her father; seeing him pulled into the flames, over, and over again in her head. Peter picked a bad time to draw away from her, and she felt especially empty and naked without his warmth.

"What were we even thinking?" Peter asked to everyone, and no one. He sat down miserably on a park bench. "We're not superheroes, we're just _people_. Sylar's a madman, and I…can we even do this at all?"

"We can do it!" Hiro piped optimistically. "We heroes! It is destiny!"

Peter was not so enthusiastic. "I've given up on destiny," he grumbled. "We need to focus on the _real _problem here: the fact that New York is going nuclear in a week."

Niki had no idea what he was talking about, so Peter was forced to explain the short, _short_, version of Isaac's floorpocolypse and his own dreams of exploding men. Even afterward, Niki was still beyond confused.

"What about Sylar?" Matt reminded him. "We can't just let that son of a bitch get away."

"Well, if we can't kill him, what's the use?" asked Niki practically. "If the guy can survive getting his head chopped off, what _can't _he survive?"

"Getting his brain cut out," spoke Claire, out of the blue. "Sylar had to steal that ability from someone by cutting out their brain, and I doubt _they're _still alive and kicking."

"Brilliant," Peter nodded his head, smiling up at her. "Claire's right; that's really the only way."

"Yeah, now we just have to figure out a _plan _to go with it," Matt griped. Peter jumped up from his bench.

"No," he proclaimed firmly. "Look where a plan got us last time. No, we just need to figure out his weak spots, all work together, and just go at it. We need to strike in whatever way we can, when we can."

"Nice idea," said Ando, looking at his watch, "but it's getting late. We should probably head home…"

The other five nodded in agreement, and they all prepared to part ways for the night. Hiro and Ando teleported back to Isaac's loft, where they were staying, while Matt turned to Peter.

"Listen, I'll call you if Isaac paints anything significant."

Peter seemed happy with that. "Good. I'll visit Mohinder, the geneticist, too; see if there's some biological way to take down Sylar."

Niki, who was walking away, whipped her head back around. "Geneticist?" she confirmed, interested.

"Yeah, he's working on a cure."

"If this is what you all say it is," Niki began. "If I have some sort of…_power_…the cure will fix it?"

Peter chewed it over. "That is, if he can get it working."

A weight seemed to lift right off of Niki's narrow shoulders. "I used to think I was going crazy, you know? I'd wake up in places I didn't know about, like today, and whatever _this _is…it's been ruining my life. Jessica kills people. IMPORTANT people, and she's out of control. I just think a cure might get rid of her, and _maybe _I could go back to being normal…"

Perhaps Nathan hadn't been so narrow-minded in his views after all. Peter's brother had tried to sell the idea that there were people with powers they didn't want, but Peter assumed that was just Nathan's own selfishness talking. But upon meeting Niki, someone who was truly being brought down by whatever it was that she could do…

Maybe the cure wasn't so wicked after all.

"I'll tell Mohinder about you," Peter assured her. Niki tried to smile gratefully, but it came out small and weak. Matt stepped in and offered to share a taxi with her, and they turned away from Peter and Claire. Their light conversation as they walked away was all Peter could hear over the traffic in the distance.

"You got a hotel room yet?"

"I don't really know. No memory, remember."

"I'm staying at this really great place, not that expensive, and I think there are some vacancies left."

"That'd be great, thanks."

Peter faced Claire and lightly encircled her hands with his. "You want to fly home?"

Claire snorted. "Do you actually have enough energy left for that?"

Peter grinned back, unusually giddy all of a sudden. "No."

So they ended up haling a cab, which, though good for resting, was _too _good for thinking. Peter didn't want to think; just feel. He didn't want to think about Claire's poor father, or the odious Sylar, or "Judgment Day" on November 8th. He definitely didn't want to think about Simone, or how on Earth he was going to make peace with Isaac and Nathan, or how much of a failure his whole plan had been.

_Be the one we need. _

It was almost impossible, though! How could he be the one they needed? Peter could barely keep himself together these days, let alone a team of superhumans, some of which that didn't even know _what _they could do. Or were in denial about their powers (ahem, Nathan.). OR didn't even have any powers, like Ando. Peter was simply a timid nurse with the most powerful abilities on the planet. Screw the whole "With great power, comes great responsibility" mantra. Who made the rule that the most powerful guy had to play leader?

Why not Matt; he was a cop, he stepped up to the plate a lot. Or Hiro? Hiro was a positive guy, also extremely powerful. Or hell, why not Claire? She was by far the _smartest_ out of all of them, she was full of passion and care, and her ability also made her exceptionally powerful.

"_I wish you were the one exploding. You'd know how to stop it."_

"_Why can't you stop it?" Claire asked fiercely. "You saved me, why can't you save New York?"_

"_It's…different. I was saving you from someone else, not myself."_

"_It's harder to save people from others. All you have to do to stop yourself is take a deep breath and stop." _

And she was right, all along, really. It was Peter that had ultimately stopped himself from turning any darker. His deep breath was taken in a pool of boiling bath tub water, but when he cam back up, he was a new man. Whenever his anger got out of control, it was thoughts of her and self-control that brought it back. He kept assuming that things were bigger then him, when in reality, they just wanted him to think that way. Score for Claude again, for calling that one.

But tonight, he was tired of thinking, and after mulling half-against his will, half-out of instinct, Peter let the only good thing in his life snuggle against his side. After that, all he did was feel.

This is all I have for now, guys! I have to write chapter sixteen this weekend, and then I'll post!

Disclaimer: Though I can be awesome when I want to be, I still don't own Heroes. So I can't be as awesome as possibly. Sucks. But le sigh, I still don't want any lawsuits. So there you go.


	17. Lost at Sea

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter Sixteen**

"**Lost At Sea"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Lower East Side, Apartment 1407**

Claire was usually a good sleeper, especially in Peter's marshmallow of a bed. But tonight, despite all of the muscle melting road-blocks that had been thrown her way, slumber still had its gates locked.

She craned her neck up, head feeling like it weighed a ton, and saw 1:53 shining in red. A rustle and frustrated groan from the living room diverted her attention. Peter had taken the couch again, mostly because it was the first thing in the apartment that he could collapse onto. Somehow, he'd managed to strip himself of his jeans and overshirt, but after, not a sound was heard from his resting place.

Now, he was just as sleepless as Claire, tossing around and trying to find a comfortable position. But no matter what he did, his eyes wouldn't close. Perhaps it was the weight of the day, all of the thoughts that Peter and Claire wanted to consider. There were too many memories, concerns, fears buzzing in the back of their skulls, so consciousness plagued them.

Claire, for instance, could not get the image of Bennet's death out of her head. She'd been doing more silent weeping in the last hour then thinking, and she couldn't even get consent to cry herself to sleep.

Meanwhile, Peter kept thinking _Sylar Sylar Sylar _like a mantra. _Sylar _was still out there. _Sylar _wanted to kill him. _Sylar _could show up at their window in that very instance and decapitate the both of them. It wouldn't have been so scary if Sylar was stoppable, and the whole situation terrified Peter with its unexpected dangers. Peter had been so confident, so sure that Sylar could be squashed like a bug in no time, single-handedly by _him _no less. The outcome had been all the more dastardly.

Claire swallowed, moistening her parched throat. "Peter."

It took a second, but Peter did look up from his make shift bed. "Claire?" he croaked. "Why aren't you asleep?"

"I can't sleep either. Come to bed."

Peter frowned, and even in the darkness, Claire could sense it.

"We might as well be insomniacs together," she further elucidated, and a small smile stretched across Peter's lips.

"Alright."

Abandoning his sheets and pillow, he dragged himself twenty feet to his bed. Peeling back the covers and plopping onto the mattress like a dead weight, a meaningless moan hummed from his throat.

Claire pulled the covers back over them and snuggled closer to him. Peter turned onto his back and slid an arm under her, pulling her by the waist, flush up against his side. Claire finally sighed in peace, resting her cheek and a palm on his chest. Heartbeat. The rise and fall of breath. _Life. _She'd learned today, and yesterday from Simone's death, how fragile it actually was. Being indestructible took away her perspective, and spending most of her time with another self-healer was not a big help. She realized that she and Peter would have to watch everyone else around them die at some point. Nathan, Sandra, Matt, Niki, adorable Hiro, little Lyle. All of them would age, wither, and die, while Peter and Claire would stay in youthful limbo.

_Guess it gives a new meaning to' together forever', _Claire thought half-sardonically, giving Peter's chest an affectionate stroke at the contemplation. Not that she would mind. If there was one person she could pick to life out an eternity with, it would be the man that currently held her in his arms, in his bed.

Judging by the sudden kiss Peter pressed to the top of her head, Claire had a feeling that he just heard her thoughts. Smiling in contentment, she finally was able to reach closure, close her eyes, and drift to another world with him.

It came as quite a shock for Claire to wake up at noon with her limbs entwined with Peter's, and she took a few moments to remember what had happened last night. Breathing a sigh of relief for they were both clothed, she relaxed her head on his chest once more. His face had turned to hers in the night, just a few inches away, and his exhalations made his bangs flutter. Claire giggled and noticed how adorably cute he was while he slept. Peter was a handsome guy by day, but he still had "please-love-me" puppy dog eyes and pouty lips when he wanted to that made him more charmingly boyish then most men.

The satisfaction was short lived, however, as she heard Peter's cell phone ringing in the other room.

Claire tried to slip out of Peter's hold as smoothly as possible, but by the time she had gotten out of bed, he still ended up stirring awake. Sighing, Claire pranced to the living room to answer the phone, which read PARKMAN on the caller ID.

"Hey Matt?" were the first words that Claire spoke that day.

"Claire? Is Peter there?"

"No, he's trying to wake up," Claire snorted, looking over at her bedmate, who was yawning tiredly, rolling over, and trying to go back to sleep.

Matt still talked hurriedly. "Get him up and come to Isaac's stat. Peter told me to call if Isaac painted anything important and…this is pretty damn big."

"What?" Claire asked, all good feelings draining out of her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Just get over here. It's something you two need to see."

Claire lowered her voice and turned away from Peter. "And Isaac? Are you sure that he and Peter-,"

"I put in a good word for your boy," Matt assured her. "Isaac's not gonna welcome him in with open arms, but he'll be civil. We're all on the same side, here."

"Good," Claire exhaled, calmed. "I'll get him up and bring him over."

"See you later."

Claire set Peter's cell back on the computer table and headed back to the bedroom. Peter was hugging a pillow to his chest to make up for the lack of Claire between his arms. Claire smiled, sat beside him on the edge of the bed, and smoothed back the hair over his ear.

"Mmm," Peter moaned, not opening his eyes. "What was that all about?"

"You're pathetic," Claire rolled her eyes, and Peter finally decided to open his. Watery brown orbs frowned up at her.

"Why?" he asked defensively.

Claire leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, then said in her sweetest voice, "Because you can't even go thirty seconds after waking up without your day starting to suck."

**Matt Parkman, Hiro Nakamura, and Isaac Mendez**

**Isaac's Loft, 215 Reed Street**

"They're late," Isaac growled, pacing his studio, annoyed. Hiro eating breakfast (waffles, of course) at the table in the other side of the room, and Ando was still sound asleep on the couch. Matt tried to calm the starving artist down, while feeling a nagging trip of fear himself.

"Peter wasn't up yet. He has to get dressed and stuff, remember?"

Isaac pointed to his most recent and now notorious painting. "But what if this has already come true! I told you, the future's been getting closer for me lately! This might have just happened!"

"What happened?" called a male voice from the front doorway. Peter and Claire had arrived, looking rather confused, and Isaac's eyes closed, at ease.

"Thank God, Claire, I thought that my painting…" he stammered, trying to focus his attention to the blonde instead of Peter. But the man kept up his questions.

"Where's the painting?" Peter asked bluntly, leading Claire down to the ground floor where Isaac and Matt were. A large womanly shaped lump was covered by a blanket on Isaac's bed, and Peter's stomach churned when he realized what-who- it was.

The artist took a hard took at Peter, who gave a pretty stiff stare himself. Peter saw that Isaac's eyes were bloodshot, possibly from crying, heroin use, or both. It wouldn't have surprised him if a recovering addict shot up because of what he'd just lost. Most of Isaac's heroin induced works were violent too, and judging from the artist's fanatical state, this latest one probably was.

"See for yourself," Isaac muttered back, pointing to the square canvas to the left. Peter walked over to face it head on, and was even more petrified at the sight in front of him, then when he saw his own death portrayed in paint.

Claire was lying in a pool of her own blood, the top of her head gruesomely sawed off. To her side, kneeling in the crimson liquid and sobbing into his hands, was Peter, who remained unscathed. Behind them was a large, shattered window that looked out over a New York morning, but other then that, it was impossible to tell where they were.

Claire started to near the painting, but Peter held up a hand.

"No. You don't want to know," he warned, trying to spare her the sight. Claire had enough on her plate without adding "seeing one's own death" to the list.

Yet the girl ignored him. She walked over to him, and took in the sight as well, shuddering.

"When does this happen? Where? How do we stop it?!" Peter's voice cracked, as he rounded on Isaac.

"I'm sorry, I don't know, I just paint what I see," Isaac murmured weakly.

Peter ran a frustrated hand through his locks and turned to Isaac again, "Do they always come true, huh?" he mumbled, desperate and hysterical. Claire came to prevent another breakdown, rushing to Peter and taking his hand in hers.

"Shh, it hasn't happened yet," she whispered in his ear, rubbing his shoulders soothingly. "Calm down; don't get angry."

Peter took her into his arms and held her there as if she would drop dead if he let her go. Swallowing any rough tension he had with Isaac, he cleared his mind and addressed the artist more sensibly.

"So now, we have to kill Sylar, stop me from exploding, _and _Claire's life is on the line, too?"

Hiro entered their proximity sometime during the commotion, and held a half-eaten waffle in his hand.

"We can change future," he explained optimistically. "We just cannot change the past. The future to _us _is _someone else_ past. _They _cannot change our future, for it happened already for them. It's the past for them, and they can't change it. But we can change it. It still our future."

"The only people that can change the future are the ones that still haven't had that future happen yet?" Matt surmised, scratching his head.

"I think that is why I came from the future," Hiro nodded, taking a bite out of his Eggo. "Future me told Pet-ah to save the cheerleader, because Future me couldn't do it himse-…er…myself. It was doomed for Future me, already, but-,"

"-if he got me to do it," continued Peter, "because it hadn't happened yet for _me_…"

"Right-o," grinned Hiro. "The future is not decided yet. We can save Cheerleader Claire."

Something clicked in Peter's mind. Perhaps it was Sylar's ability to see how things worked, or maybe his own twisted genius, but the reason for him exploding rolled out to him on a red carpet. All this time, he'd assumed it was an overload of power, but what if that wasn't the case. What _if,_ it was an overload of emotion?

"I need to talk to Claude," he blurted out, reluctantly letting Claire go and heading towards the front door.

"But Peter!" Claire called, following after him, bewildered. Peter turned around and gave her a look that indicated that she, nor anybody, was to follow him.

"I'll be back soon. Stay here," Peter told her gently but firmly, and without a kiss goodbye, he strode out the entranceway.

**Claude Raines and Peter**

**Columbus Park**

Peter hadn't sensed Claude at the Deveaux Building, but instead, here at Columbus Park. It was the same place that they had trained one day, the day that Peter discovered he had ice powers. It was a large enough park, but luckily, with Peter's abilities, Claude wasn't hard to locate.

"Claude!" he hollered upon seeing the invisible man sitting on a bench and feeding bread crumbs to some pigeons.

Claude looked up, his expression unreadable. "Peter! You made it out alive, I see."

"Yeah, barely," Peter replied glumly. "Bennet didn't fare so well, though."

The older man stood up from the bench and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Eh? Some broken bones?"

"Try death," Peter mumbled back. Claude's eyebrows shot up into his wispy bangs.

"_Dead_? You got him _killed_?!" Claude exclaimed incredulously. Off Peter's defeated look, he moaned and slapped his hand to his forehead.

"You've got to be bloody kidding me! How did this happen?"

"He sacrificed himself so that we could escape. Me and Niki got knocked out, Ando and Hiro were distracted, there was a fire, Claire was trying to take car of me…God, it was a disaster. This morning hasn't been much better. Isaac just unveiled his latest piece. It's of Claire…" He hesitated, finding it hard to control his voice and actually say the words. "Claire gets killed by…Sylar."

Claude's eyes showed genuine fear. "Be on guard for now on, then. Don't let my daughter out of your sight. If she dies because of your carelessness, I don't _care _how indestructible you are, I'll-,"

"No need for that," muttered Peter. "I'd kill _myself _and save you the time."

Weighing Peter's gloomy rebuke, Claude sat back down on the bench. "How's she taking all of this?"

Peter swallowed and shrugged helplessly. "It's tearing her apart, but she's trying not to show it. She's trying to be strong for me, and help me, and I just…I don't want her to feel like my crutch anymore. She needs out herself first, not me."

"Why you telling me this? You should be telling her!"

Peter slumped onto the bench next to Claude. "I dunno. I did come here to talk to you about something, though. Hiro said something that sort of gave me an epiphany."

"Hiro is the one that can stop time?"

"Yeah. Anyway…I saw that painting of Claire, and I realized…how would I feel if that came true? I'd be devastated; I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I can't even _imagine _it right now; it'd be _that _awful. What if…the reason I explode is from all that emotional overload?"

Claude snorted. "You're a time bomb, not a mood ring, mate."

But Peter was unyielding. "What about save the cheerleader, save the world? If she lives, if we _save her _from thisI won't feel grief, I won't explode, and New York will be saved."

"Your logic's right, but your science is off," Claude pointed out practically. "Humans don't just _explode _from emotion. Can't be done."

"Humans can't heal themselves, fly, or turn invisible either," retorted Peter. "After all, I'm not really human anymore, am I?"

"You're as human as you choose to be," the mentor replied. "That's the difference between you and Sylar. He's a murdering raving lunatic and you're…empathetic. If you can just keep it together long enough to take him on the right way…"

"Keep it together?!" exploded Peter, rising to his feet again. "He killed Bennet! He killed Claire's father! He deserves to be slaughtered!"

The dark smoke in him was thickening again, and he tried to sooth his soul with thoughts of Claire's warm fingers tangled with his.

"This is not the time for you to get your revenge!" Claude lashed out just as harshly. "I knew someone a lot like you that got put six feet under the ground because she wanted revenge!"

"Who?" frowned Peter, chest heaving. Claude's temper stilled as well, and he began his explanations.

"Tammy Gallagher. A pupil of mine, bout a year ago. Her daughter Karen ran away from home to go off with her boyfriend when the kids were in high school. Tammy tracked them down ten years later to go rough up the little bastard that she thought had brainwashed her daughter. They were married by then, the girl and whoever her mate was. Tammy walked into the house, didn't come out. I'm not quite sure what happened to her in there, but I think it was an accident. Tammy had absorbed a psychic ability along the road somewhere, and she would have seen it coming."

"How do you know she's dead then, if she never came out of the house?"

"I saw her body," Claude replied gravely. "I was the one that buried her. I lived in Virginia at the time, wandered around with her on the search for Karen."

Peter rethought some of Claude's story. "Wait. Did you say she _absorbed _a psychic ability?"

Claude smiled nostalgically. "Indeed, friend. She could do what you can do. Remember when we met and you told me your ability? What was the first thing I said to you?"

"Fantastic," Peter recalled. "One of those." He almost chuckled. "I should have known all along. You've trained other empaths."

"Just Tammy, actually. You lot are quite a rare breed. It's really the only reason I haven't left you to explode, yet. Ye' remind me of her. And you empaths are the only ones that can actually _see me_…"

Peter was silent, chewing over the tragedy that Claude had just revealed to him. A woman wanted justice, a _powerful _woman, and she had still been defeated by mere mortals. It just went to show that even the strongest of abilities was useless with irresponsibility.

"And that's why you've got to control that temper," chided Claude. "You're reckless just like Tammy was. It's already caused a death, maybe two, for you. It _cannot _happen again."

"Sylar's a murderer," Peter mentioned haplessly. "He has to be stopped in _some _way."

Claude rolled his eyes. "Who says that it has to be you that stops him?"

"I'm the only one that can!"

"Oh, now you're just being arrogant. Another one of the deadly sins, might I add. Wanna give it a go for glutton and sloth? Collect all seven!"

Peter glared.

"Anyway, if you think you're so high and mighty, why are you still teamed up with the Mini-Justice League? You said Hiro could stop time. Surely he could kill Sylar. Parkman could send him screaming to his knees with telepathic pulses."

"Like they know _how_," Peter sighed impatiently. "We have no idea how to…" He trailed off and looked up at Claude quizzically. The cogwheels in his brain were fitting together a brilliant idea.

"You can train them."

Claude groaned. "_What _did I tell you about no Sunday School For The Special?"

"I'm serious! I barely know how to use these powers myself, but these people- they're clueless! You have to help us, Claude." Peter wasn't exactly the begging type, but his self-titled "puppy sulk" was a frequent weapon of choice. "You're all we've got."

Whether it was the flattery, or that the boy had come to grow on him, Claude was not certain. But either way, it was still impossible to say no to that desperate, pleading, gaze.

"Why do I always budge for you kids?" Claude muttered indignantly, and Peter beamed. All of the young man's previously murky expectations for the future did a 180 with Claude's acceptance. If they could get trained, find a way to really stop Sylar, then Claire wouldn't get killed! And Claire survivingPeter not exploding. Hopefully.

"Great. I'll bring them here tomorrow, same time." And then he did something he had never dared do to before: he hugged Claude.

The invisible man was not too keen on that though. Shrugging off Peter's loose embrace, he grumbled something about "Italians" and "touching." Peter failed to care, however, because there was finally a beacon of hope for their ship lost at sea.

Because of Claude Raines, they were going to save the world.

**Review Replies!**

I'd like to thank everyone for the sudden bloom of reviews I got over the weekend. I came back to an inbox full of alerts and I was all "Dude. Whoa." Heh. Thanks everyone!

**Joanna:** Well, they do go to some special places in chapter 18, but they don't _fly_. wink

**Locathah**: Sylar can't die on the show either, as it has been shown to us. So I based that hypothesis on canon, and they have yet to give us a reason for why Sylar went after Claire. _However_, I speculate that he has the ability to raise the dead. His body automatically raises _himself _when he's dead. So no matter what you do to him, he'll keep breathing and moving. I think he has a certain ability of regeneration himself, but not as fast as Claire's. I did take a little "suspend your disbelief" with the beheading, because strictly speaking, his head probably wouldn't have stayed on. His main goal though, is because Claire can't feel pain, and Sylar can. Even if Sylar could technically "heal", he still has to deal with what's happened to him. That's the main reason he wants to kill her.

**Ester-87: **Yeah, N/M is growing on me. There will be a little bit more of them in upcoming chapters, but it's all innocent/in good fun. Like I said above, Sylar is not techincally indestructable, he's more like a zombie. In fact, Sylar is a lot like a zombie in several ways. He eats braaaaaains! ) But right now, Sylar's kind of torn between Claire and Peter. Peter's the golden child with the perfect power, but he resents Bennet and it _would _be nice not to feel pain anymore. So pretty much, he's just gonna go after the both of them, and see who he can get to first.

**Citty132:** Er, is that literal or metaphorical? Because 16 chapters in 5 minutes means you missed a lot, hehe. Maybe speed reading is your superpower?


	18. Sunday School For The Special

Disclaimer: The rtwofan does not own any of this sigh

**Chapter Seventeen**

"**Sunday School For The Special"**

**Columbus Park**

**New York**

The day after Claude's unenthusiastic acceptance to Peter's pleas, Niki, Matt, Peter, Hiro, Isaac, and Claire were all sitting Indian style like school children in the park. They formed a sort of semi-circle away from the beaten path, while Claude stood in front of them awkwardly. Peter, of course, was the only one that could see him, while the five others were still looking around expectantly.

"Here," Peter cleared his throat, taking hold of Claire and Hiro's hands. "If you're all linked to me, I can pass on my invisibility. Then you'll be able to see Claude."

His comrades gawkily complied, and Matt pinkened at taking the hands of the two beautiful blonde women he was flanked by. Nevertheless, it worked. Claude materialized in front of their eyes, looking tired and bored. Peter shot his mentor a smirk.

"You may begin."

Claude clapped his hands together and shrugged. "Er…hello. I'm Claude Raines. At the whelp's request, I'm gonna teach you how to control your abilities a little more. Because as I've heard it, you're a dense bunch of bumbles and if the world rests in your present hands…we're all in a bloody lot of trouble."

Peter rolled his eyes and Claire showed no emotion, but the other four that weren't so used to Claude's sardonic nature looked around sheepishly.

"Basically," Claude continued, "you're fighting a murderer and an exploding man. Quite a lot of weight for six simpletons. And if you don't follow my instructions, you're gonna end up murderers yourselves."

"Some of us have already been there, done that," grumbled Peter miserably. Unfortunately, Claude heard him and started on a frustrated rant. Isaac avoided Peter's eyes studiously.

"Oh God in heaven, you're not still on about that, are you? Sure, don't let it happen again, but _let the past go_! And stop thinking you're all alone and martyrish. Everyone? Raise your hand if you've ever killed someone, will you?"

Out of all seven of them, Hiro was the only one that didn't raise his hand. Peter shot Claire an incredulous look. She lowered her arm a notch and cocked her head uncertainly.

"Well, almost. I _tried _to kill Brody and he's an inch away from death. Does that count?"

Peter sighed and then looked questioningly at Matt and Niki, then turned to Isaac.

"I'm a cop. Don't look so shocked."

"Jessica's killed a couple dozen people," Niki muttered shamefully.

"Heroin addict with a gun," was all Isaac released.

Claude looked satisfied at the motley crew. "See? Now that we've got that established, I'd like to ask everyone your names and your powers. You first, the one on the end."

"Isaac Mendez," the Hispanic man introduced himself. "I can paint the future. I used to be alright at it, but I only painted really important things while I was high. Now that I've…been off the drugs…for the most part…the stuff I'm painting is in the not too distant future, and it's meaningless. Hiro and the dinosaur was pointless. All of the paintings I worked on to find Bennet. I don't know what's happening. I paint better when I shoot up."

"Painting the future," murmured Claude. "That's a new one. First off, don't go back to the drugs. You're perfectly capable of painting whatever you want without them. If superheroes needed powder and pills to make their powers work, that would kind of defeat the purpose of being super, now wouldn't it? Who's next?"

Hiro nodded politely and pushed his glasses up his nose. "My name is Hiro Nakamura. I bend time...and-a space."

Claude stroked his beard, interested. "Interesting. That's what Peter told me. So, have you gotten a good control on that yet?"

Shrugging, Hiro responded with, "I can stop-o time good, and teleport-o…._okay_. I sometimes end up in the past, or the future, but I get to the place that I'm trying to go. It is the time that I have trouble with."

"Hmmm," mused the invisible man in turn. "That shouldn't be too difficult, mate. I've never worked with a breed like you before, but I suspect that more focus and practice is all it will take."

Hiro bowed his head neutrally again, thanking Claude for his advice. After skipping Peter and Claire, who respectively already had his control for the most part and had a power that her body used automatically, Claude moved to Matt Parkman.

"I'm Matt, and I can read thoughts," announced Matt flatly. "It gives me pretty bad headaches though, and I can't really control it. It mostly just comes and goes."

Claude looked down at him nonchalantly. "I've met a lot of mind readers. In fact, there are a lot out of there that have a knack for it _without _it being encoded into their DNA. You've got no notion of your potential, Matt. You can do more then just _read _minds."

"And…how would that be?"

"That's what I'm going to tell you about in time, if you'd give stop being so impatient," Claude snapped. "I think I've got a second poodle over here, I swear…"

"The world's going to hell in five days, Claude," Matt pointed out bluntly. "You might want to hurry it up a bit."

Biting back a retort, Claude moved to his last pupil. "And you love. What can you do?"

Niki moistened her lips and gave a helpless smile to her teacher. "Uh…I don't think I have one. And if I do, I need that cure that Peter was talking about."

Peter cringed. He promised Niki that he'd visit Mohinder, but there had been no time. He made a mental note to drop by Suresh's apartment sometime later that day.

Claude kneeled down, and met Niki at eye level. Perhaps it was her beauty, good heart, or her fragileness, but every one of them seemed to soften their personas around the young mother. Niki was the kind of woman that looked as if she would break in two if you touched her hard enough.

"What can you do, dear?"

Niki gazed skyward, eyes glistening slightly. She barely felt the comforting squeeze that Matt gave her hand, but it still gave her the strength to carry on. These people were like her. They genuinely wanted to _help_ her, not _fix _her. She hadn't felt so cared about in a long time, save for Micah looking to her for protection and love.

"It's not what I can do," she said quietly. "It's more...what _happens _to me. Whenever I look in a mirror, and lately, I don't even have to do that…_she _comes. Jessica."

Peter adjusted his seating and tried to hear her better. Matt and Hiro knew most of Niki's deal, but the rest of them had yet to learn anything about the blonde.

Claude crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "Jessica?"

"My sister," whispered Niki. "She was killed by our dad when she was eleven."

Even Matt hadn't been informed on the way that Jessica had passed away, and he shook his head sympathetically. The others, however, had no idea that Jessica was even a real person. Peter and Claire had just assumed that, however sweet Niki was, she was still crazy.

"But this isn't her," added Niki hurriedly. "My sister would never do this stuff. She was loving, and warm, not a killer like _this _Jessica. My alter-ego, or personality, or _whoever _she is…she can rip people apart with her bare hands. Maybe that's what I can do…I dunno."

"Do you think that Jessica, another personality, is a way of dealing with the fact that you have super-strength?" Claude suggested. Niki silently shook her head, and after a few moments, gave an explanation.

"No, she's _real_. When she's…in my body, I guess, I'm trapped in the mirror. I can see what she's doing, I just can't get out."

"So," concluded Claude, "you can still see her and you're still aware, but you're out of your body?"

Niki pursed her lips, defeated. "I know, it sounds so impossible. Nobody else can explain it either."

But Claude seemed to be onto something that Niki wasn't. "Wait. Did Jessica have any unfinished business? Any resentments?"

Clueless, Niki gaped speechlessly. "She was killed when she was just a kid. And…she...s-she took all of the beatings that were meant for me. Jessica- the one in the mirror- said to me…after I told her that I was in control, because she was a part of me…she said 'No, it doesn't work like that anymore.' Does that mean something?"

"Precisely," agreed Claude, rising to his feet again. "It all fits perfectly. I think I just figured out your power."

The group in front of him met his illuminated eyes with blank, confused, stares. Claude tried to ignore the slowness of his pupils.

"Niki, if my guess is correct, then you can channel the dead."

Niki met Matt's bemused glance her way, and then turned back to Claude. "Excuse me?"

Claude paced the grass, waving his arms around as he explained. "The souls of the departed can possess your body and go about their merry way, trying to do what they couldn't when they were living."

Matt spoke up on her behalf. "Hold the phone. If Niki's sister was loving, then why'd she be a killer if she's the real Jessica? Why is she trying to ruin Niki's life?"

It took Claude a moment to come up with a hypothesis for that particularly good note.

"Jessica has been boiling in the afterlife for what? Niki how old are you?"

"Thirty-two. Jessica was four years older than me."

"Alright, so for…twenty-five years, Jessica has been sitting wherever her soul is, fuming and seething because she died so young. Brutally as well, by the way you described her death. And though I'm sure she loves you, all that anger may have led her to believe that because she took the beatings for you- and I really don't mean to upset you, love; - that…she thinks it may be your fault that she died."

Niki swallowed her tears at Claude's suggestion. It was a new layer of guilt to be pressed down upon her thin body. Then again, what was one more? Like Matt had said, the world was going to end in five days. She had to be strong. Mirror Jessica always told her how weak she was, and maybe this was why. Jessica thought, deep down, that she _had _to take the beatings because Niki was too feeble. In Jessica's mind, Niki's weakness had put her in the grave.

No wonder Jessica was trying to either ruin her sister's life, or violently act out a good intention of making Niki learn to be stronger.

"What about super strength?" piped Hiro from the other end.

"It's highly likely that Jessica had manifested that as her ability, and when you channel a mutant, you also take on their ability for that time that they are possessing you."

"How do I control her?" asked Niki firmly, with a new resolve.

"I'm not an exorcist, Niki," Claude answered with uncharacteristic kindness. "The only thing I can teach you how to do is to invite other souls in."

"Invite them _in? _Why would I want to do _that_?"

"The souls of the dead can be very useful, you know," the British man pointed out wisely. "Imagine channeling Einstein or King Tut, or-,"

"Tammy Gallagher," Peter interjected out of the blue. His six companions all frowned towards him.

"You've got to be kidding me," groaned Claude. "That's a terrible idea! How's that going to help anything? Tammy's not exactly the type that liked to be disturbed."

"Gee, that reminds me of someone," Peter said overzealously, arching an eyebrow at Claude. "You two must have been best friends, huh?"

Claude glared at his immature Anakin, as Claire took a peek at Peter, slightly disconcerted. He'd mentioned nothing about this woman, and they talked about everything. He had a right to his privacy, but this really wasn't a big secret, was it?

"Who was she?" Claire asked her father. Claude gave the "class" the short version of what he explicated to Peter the prior day. Tammy was a mimic, she'd gone on a payback mission, and ended up dead.

"Do you think she still has the abilities she'd absorbed?" Matt questioned. "Like if Niki channeled her, would she have Tammy's archive, or just the empath ability?"

For the umpteenth time that day, Claude had no answer. "Haven't the foggiest. To the day she had died, Tammy had absorbed my invisibility, foresight, she could talk to animals, she claimed to 'see how things how they really are'-which was something I never quite understood. There were a handful of others, but she didn't have a collection nearly as big as Peter. Metahumans seem to be flinging themselves at _him_ from every direction."

"That's a lot of powers," Peter tried to say nonchalantly, but Claude and Claire caught the particularly hungry glint in his eyes. The love to his left nudged his elbow lightly and squeezed his hand, trying to silently remind him of his purpose. Yet that yearning did not tame as much as it usually did. Peter only masked it by kissing their intertwined hands and giving Claire a reassuring smile. The girl was not fooled though, and she reminded herself to try distracting him extra hard after class was dismissed.

"If I channel Tammy," Niki started to inquire slowly, "will she hurt innocent people?"

"She's an atom bomb, that Tammy," Claude admitted. "But I think she would listen to me. We'd just have to tread carefully; tip-toe through the daisies."

"Two of us that powerful would definitely help out the effort to take down Sylar," Peter added. "If she's an empath, she'd absorb all of Sylar, Matt, Hiro…_everyone's _powers, as well as her previous ones. She'd probably be more powerful than _me_."

"Yeah, but if Niki took on all those powers at once, wouldn't she collapse?" Matt noted uneasily. Niki's expression was also one of apprehension.

"She has to try," Peter countered stubbornly. "We need all the power against Sylar that we can get."

"But not everyone is exactly as experienced at this as _you_, Peter," Matt snapped back, starting to raise his voice.

"That's why we're here!" Peter yelled back. "I'm _trying _to help you!"

"Are you really trying to help _us_, or are you just trying to _use_ us to save your girlfriend?!"

"Stop!" cried three voices in harsh unison. One was Hiro, who looked dejected, the second was an annoyed and distraught Claude, and the last was Claire, half-tearful, half-adamant.

"So you don't care if Claire dies?" Peter seethed back, trying to control his temper.

"Of course I do!" Matt said honestly, in a more civil tone. "But we have to find a way that's gonna be safe for all of us. You can't go around choosing who's expendable and who deserves to be saved."

It was natural for Matt, the policeman, the protector of everyone, to have such an opinion.

"He's right Peter," Claire concurred, turning her soft eyes upon him. "It's not worth it."

Peter took a long time before tearing his gaze away from hers and mumbling an apology.

"I-I can try," declared Niki into the New York afternoon air. "If Claude teaches me how to do it right, I'll try to get Tammy to help us."

"Speaking of 'us', I guess there's someone I still need to talk to about this whole thing," Peter recalled aloud, a slight grimace on his face. "My brother, Nathan."

"Nat-an Pethtrelli!" hoorayed Hiro, raising his arms in a Y without letting go of Isaac or Peter. The two men neighboringhim exchanged weary glimpses, the first hint of amiability ever shared between Peter and Isaac.

"Did he say Nathan Petrelli?" The color drained from Niki's already fair complexion. "He's your _brother_?"

Peter wasn't so shocked. "He's a politician. You've probably seen him around."

"Yeah…" Niki let him believe. She wasn't about to advertise the fact that Jessica had made her sleep with that very same Nathan Petrelli. Meeting the congressman-wannabee again wasn't something Niki was too thrilled about. Sure, he'd said some flattering things…before he realized that she'd only spent the night with him to get Linderman a nice piece of blackmail on him.

But wait a second…how was Nathan "one of us?" If Nathan was like _them_, then he had much bigger problems to cover up then affairs and non-family values.

Claude tiredly grumbled a 'class adjourned' and his crew of superfreaks let go of their neighbors' sweaty palms. Most of them stood and went their separate ways, but Isaac timidly walked over to Peter, who was standing alone.

"Simone," was the first word out of Isaac's mouth. _Oh God, where is _this _going, _thought Peter, exasperated. But what the artist said next was not what Peter expected to hear in the least.

"After all this is over...if we're still all alive…I'm gonna have some sort of funeral for her, and…I think you should come." Isaac's black eyes were dead serious and his offer authentic. The selflessness of the peace offering made Peter's heart break. It would be greedy to go to such a funeral. Inappropriate, and careless.

"I shouldn't," stammered Peter, shaking his head. "I don't deserve to."

"It was a mistake, Peter," Isaac said quietly. "I know you loved Simone. You didn't want this to happen to her any more then…then I did."

Peter's mouth hung up slightly, wordless. "W-Why are you doing this?" he asked, not understanding for the _world _why Isaac was being so generous. They'd never really liked each other, and now Isaac had every right to hate him with a damnable potency. Peter almost raised the question if Isaac was high, but figured that would be much too rude.

"It's what Simone would have wanted," Isaac replied simply. Peter couldn't take it anymore. He bowed his head, unable to look at Isaac, and sniffed back tears. Isaac gripped Peter's shoulder briefly, before letting go and moving to leave.

"Think about it, Peter," he stated finally, and then left the other man alone with his thoughts.

Claire, who was conversing with Hiro during Isaac's truce, approached her friend and touched his arm.

"Hey; what was that about?" she asked sensitively, recognizing Peter's thoughtfully morose aura.

"Isaac offered me something very kind," Peter plainly said, drawing her into his strong arms. "He asked me to go to Simone's funeral."

"Oh, you have to go," Claire exclaimed as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She brought her palms to his chest and rested her cheek in the space between them. Peter absently stroked her back, twirling her golden curls around an index finger.

"I don't know if I can face that," Peter confessed darkly.

"You'd kick yourself for life if you don't. You _know _you will."

"Mmm," Peter acknowledged, pulling away just enough so that he could see her face. "You're right." He slid his hands from behind her body and up to cup her face, before leaning down and ever so gently brushing his lips across hers. It was actually the first time they'd shared a kiss since the first time in Central Park. Claire was snaking her palms up his chest, coming close to wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Petrelli!" came a loud bark from behind them. Rolling his eyes, Peter gave Clairela one last, sensual tug on her bottom lip before coming up and addressing Claude.

"Yeah?" He rejoindered, a comfortably smug look on his face. Claude had a wrinkled nose and a look of disgust on his face.

"Do it in private, or don't do it at all!" He snapped, referring to the awkwardly stomach churning sight of his apprentice making out with his daughter.

Claude continued. "Honestly Claire, if he so much as gives you the eye like he wants to get in your pants, you tell me! I'll put him in his place!"

"I think I'm already in my place, thank you," Peter smiled, looking pleasantly down at Claire's arms encircling his waist. Unfortunately, Claire chose in _that _moment to pull away and go hug Claude, which only earned Peter a snarky smirk from his tutor.

"What happened to all of the encouragement?" Claire faux pouted, looking up at her father. Claude sighed.

"Careful what you wish for," he grumbled, gently pushing his daughter back into Peter's arms. Grinning, Peter leaned into kiss her again, enjoying these light moments to the fullest whenever he could get his hands on them. By the time they broke apart again, Claude had left them. The others had departed as well, sure to be off towards lunch or their living arrangements. Peter and Claire were standing alone in each other's arms, and it was somehow more serene then the night they first kissed.

"Do you think Claude will ever warm up to it?" Claire asked him quizzically, running a finger down his jaw line. Peter's lips turned upward into his one-of-a-kind crooked smile.

"He already has."


	19. The Greater Good

**This chapter would NOT come out!** You think I'm kidding you. It has officially made this story a mess, I swear. In fact, I wrote Chapter nineteen before this one, I was so stuck. However, 19 has been split into parts one and two, and one hasn't been written yet, so I can't post 19 yet, either. You guys are just gonna have to bear with me for the next few days why I get this stuff worked out, okay? I'm really sorry about the fillery transitiony total exposition chapters, but they are still incredibly important, and have to be done. pout

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the plots or characters, or ANYTHING.

**Chapter Eighteen**

"**The Greater Good"**

**Peter Petrelli and Mohinder Suresh**

**Suresh's Apartment, Brooklyn**

Mohinder was still dumbfounded from Peter's decision, even as he sealed and marked the empath's blood sample. After all this struggle and argument, pomp and circumstance, Peter just showed up at Suresh's apartment and caved into giving his DNA.

"If I may ask," began Mohinder, stashing away the glass test tube in his freezer. "What made you change your mind about all this?"

Peter pulled his sleeve down, no trace of blood or mark from the needle remaining on his arm.

"I realized how important it is, and selfish of me not to help out. Mainly, there's this woman I met named Niki that really opened my eyes."

Mohinder smirked, showing his perfect white teeth in contrast to coffee colored skin. "Girlfriend?"

"Oh, no," Peter grimaced. Niki was gorgeous, but he felt no attraction to her in _that _way. "I already have one. No, Niki's got a power that's been pretty much ruining her life. And…that's sort of the catch I'm offering you."

Cocking his head, Mohinder stared at his donor suspiciously. "There's a catch? I should have known."

Peter leaned forward. "How many cures can you make in the next four days?"

"One, if lucky."

"Alright, then. I want that first injection to go to Niki. Not right now though…we need her and her ability for something, but…if the world's still standing on November 9th."

The geneticist was more interested in other things. "But why? I'm fascinated; what can she do?"

"It's hard to explain," Peter replied honestly. "Her base power is simple, but the things it's doing to her are really complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Look, just," Peter spat, impatiently waving his arms around. "Don't worry about that. All I need you to do is to get one dose worth; one dose that you're sure won't hurt her, and call me when you have it, okay?"

"And where am I supposed to get a test subject?" Mohinder bit back.

Peter thought of Sylar. "I had a suggestion for one, but he's put on a vanishing act. Matt said his shop was abandoned, and I can't sense him anywhere near us."

"Who are you even talking about!?"

"A man-a _monster_- named Sylar," Peter gritted out, voice dripping with hatred at what the creature had done to Claire's father. Peter expected Mohinder to blow it off like _most _of the things he told the scientist, but the actual reaction was reasonably different.

"Did you just say Sylar?" choked Mohinder, his eyes glazed and distant all of a sudden. Peter's eyebrows went up into his bangs.

"You've heard of him? Did he come by here?"

Mohinder sat down against his messy desk, bowing his head, ebony curls masking his eyes. Peter crossed his arms over his chest and stepped closer, sensing something utterly wrong.

"He murdered my father," Suresh whispered emotionlessly. The words had become like sand in his mouth, he'd said them so many times. Long gone were the days when Mohinder actually felt emotion about it. Now it was reduced to just a simple, blunt fact.

"Chandra? No way!" Peter blurted out, recalling the urn of ashes on the table when he first went for answers from the Indian man. "Are you sure it was him, Sylar?"

"I watched it with my own eyes," Mohinder snapped back, looking up at Peter. Then he softly added, "So to speak."

"I guess you and Claire have something in common, then," Peter muttered back, leaning forward against the desk.

"Claire?"

"She's the…girlfriend I mentioned," Peter explained awkwardly. It was the first time he'd ever referred to Claire as his girlfriend. Not that he wasn't open to the idea, but their relationship was not petty enough to earn titles like that. Other 'girlfriends' of his he took to the movies. With Claire, they learned to use superpowers together with a grumpy old British man.

"Sylar killed her dad too. Not her biological dad, he's still around. But the foster father who raised her was kidnapped and murdered." Peter shrugged weakly, not knowing any gentler way to put it.

Mohinder cleared his throat. "Well, is there anything else about that 'catch' you aforementioned?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.

"I'm not taking the cure, under any conditions. These people need my help, and my abilities. I don't care what I said to Nathan. He wants me to go back to a normal life and job, but if I don't do this, there isn't going to _be _life anymore. Not even for him. Instead of being the esteemed Congressman of New York, he'll be leader of a nuclear wasteland. And…that's it, I guess. One cure for Niki and her alone."

Peter walked towards the front door to leave Mohinder with that being his final statement.

"Nathan mentioned that your apprehension is because of dreams," Suresh admitted frankly.

Peter's eyes narrowed. "They're not just dreams."

"I believe you," Mohinder surprised him by saying. "I saw my father's death in a dream, after all."

Features softening, Peter nodded understandingly. He opened the front door, walked out, and let it slam behind him as Mohinder's words still rang in his ears.

0x0x0x0x0x0

Though the maiden voyage of Claude's venture into teaching didn't go quite well, his pupils _did _fare better independently. Over the next three days, Matt, Hiro, and Niki all had individual sessions with the mentor, Peter training alongside them. It was three times harder for him, having to learn the in depth details of three powers (four, technically), rather than one, like his peers. However, the fate of the world depended on it, and he take on a little more weight for a worthy cause. Plus, with Claire shyly smiling at him in encouragement, he found no reason to complain.

Isaac refrained from these outings, seeing nothing Claude could do for him. Which Claude didn't mind a lick, already tearing his hair out with training three, strictly speaking _six_ students a day.

Hiro sent Ando back to Japan, much to his best friend's chagrin. However, the teleporter was for once, no giggles about his decision. If anything happened to his sidekick, Hiro wouldn't be able to go on with life. Peter had already noticed a change in the young Japanese man, who seemed more determined then anyone else to save Claire.

"Sylar killed person I loved, too," Hiro told him solemnly one day, during break. "You should not have to see a same thing happen."

Matt was, by far, the valedictorian of their little class. He seemed to have picked up mind reading rather well (possibly natural curiosity), and gleefully annoyed Claude by projecting his _own _thoughts into the invisible man's head. Mostly, whenever Matt felt Claude was being too harsh, he thought various Disney songs at his teacher until Claude couldn't take it anymore.

Conversely, Niki felt completely unaccomplished. Her husband and son were the only things in her life that were taken care of; she'd called DL and Micah, explaining her situation and ordering them to stay in Las Vegas. However, control ended there.

Niki hadn't been able to channel Tammy yet, or anyone for that matter. Meditating, metronomes, and even the 'field trip' to the graveyard hadn't done anything, and she was getting increasingly more frustrated. Thankfully, Peter hadn't been able to get squat for results either, which made her feel slightly relieved. Neither of them was doing much for Claude's patience, though. Quite frankly, the older man had nearly run out of ideas. And if Tammy couldn't help them fight…

As Claude would say, they'd all be 'up a bloody creek.'

**Nathan Petrelli **

**Nathan's Office, Mid-Town Manhattan**

Unlike even Niki, Nathan Petrelli wanted nothing to do with classes, superheroes, or saving the world in the least bit. It was often stated that Black Friday, the day taxes are due, are Memorial Day weekend are the busiest times of the year. For him, _today_ was.

Six months of pre-production for an event that was almost there, and Nathan felt like he hadn't taken one step forward from when he began. Funny how planning things makes them seem like they'll never happen, and when they finally arrive, it all blows to nothing.

Luckily, his frets were mostly in his head. Assistants and interns scurried about upstairs, while Nathan himself sat in peaceful solitude in his personal office. Two speeches lay in front of him; one for a win, and the other for if he wasn't so fortunate. Nathan had mostly completed his solemn statements…but as for the victory address, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

It would be so easy just to bullshit his way through it. Announce some changes that he had no intention of acting out, smile pretty, and get off the stage. Why did he have to think so hard on this one anyway? He was down in the polls; Nathan probably wouldn't even win the thing in the first place.

A whoosh of air and the creak of hinges broke him out of his reverie. The door to his office had been opened, and standing in front of it was his irresponsible brother.

"Peter," Nathan warned, standing up. "You shouldn't be here."

The last time he'd seen Peter was when Simone had been murdered. So what, was he supposed to invite his sibling into the office with open arms?

"Oh, shut _up_, Nathan. I'm not here to kill you."

Peter invited himself in, letting the metal door close behind him. Even though Nathan was apprehensive, his lawyer's ability to read people told him to act otherwise. Peter looked like his old nature; navy hoodie, dark wash jeans, polo shirt. Pitch black, floppy, little boy bangs that had now grown to his chin and needed to be cut. Big pouty eyes with that weird color. Brown usually, but grey when the light hit them just right (if that was possible). He no longer looked like the menacing knight from last week. Peter looked like…_Peter. _Nathan's little brother.

"How did you get in?" Nathan asked distrustfully, still on guard. "I told my interns to keep you from coming in here."

Peter shrugged. "Invisibility."

He walked closer to Nathan's desk, casually leaning forward against the edge. Nathan recognized the habit, and wondered if Peter was doing it to intentionally provoke him into trust.

"What do you want?" Nathan muttered, finally sitting down in his revolving desk chair.

"You know what tomorrow is," Peter stated, now serious, as if that explained everything.

Nathan nearly guffawed. "Of course I know what tomorrow is! It's the most important day of my _life_! And you need to just stay locked up in your apartment, Peter, just…don't even risk screwing this over for me."

Peter was used to his brother's obsession. "I'm not talking about the _election, _Nathan. I'm talking 'bout the day after _that_. November 8th. That's the day the bomb is going off, remember?"

"You and that bomb…" Nathan began under his breath, rolling his eyes beneath closed lids.

"It's not just me!" exclaimed Peter. "Look, I've met other people like me! People who are trying to help me stop it! The only one that's not in is YOU, and we need all the help we can get!"

His voice cracked. "We need you, Nathan."

Nathan opened his eyes and stared up at his brother, aghast. "And why the hell is that? I can fly, Pete; I don't have some magical ability to save the world."

"It doesn't matter," Peter protested firmly, craning himself across the desk so his face was inches from Nathan's. "You're still one of us, at least for now, when it matters."

"At least for now?" frowned Nathan.

"I gave Suresh my DNA so that he could make the cure," Peter said quietly. Then, he looked up, fierce again. "But it's not for you. It's for Niki Sanders, who actually _needs _it. And even she's not getting it until after Wednesday."

"Niki Sanders?" Nathan asked, with a look on his face that gave away a secret.

"You know her?" Peter sighed, beginning to get sick of everyone's connections to one another.

"I slept with her," Nathan bluntly corrected him. "It was a blackmail tape that Linderman set up. Goddammit, she shows up to you right before the election? I bet she's got it with her, ready to show it if she doesn't get cured. And you fell right for it," he groaned, as Peter looked on, stupefied.

"You're such a…" Peter began, looking around in frustration. "She's not a _spy_, okay? This isn't all about you! And even if it was just a set up, so be it! If you did something wrong, you should face the cost!"

"Yeah, like you're a real saint," Nathan snapped back, and that silenced Peter. He got up from his chair, crossed around his desk, and grasped Peter by the shoulders. Peter's arms folded across his chest did not give the impression of welcomeness, either.

"I know this election hasn't been good for us, Pete," he admitted softly. "But one more day, man, just…" Nathan closed his eyes and considered what he was about to say. "Tell you what; after tomorrow, I'll put on a cape and fly to Detroit, waving at the cameras, for all I care. But November 7th is the single most important day of my life. I cannot. Do anything. To mess. It. Up."

Peter stared boredly. "I guess your wedding and the birth of your children don't count as important days?"

Nathan was tempted to whop his brother on the side of the head like they when Nathan was a teenager and Peter was just a little kid. However, back _then, _Peter and his heart of gold would always come running back, latching onto Nathan's leg, and beaming up at his big brother with those doe eyes. Times had changed, though, and it took Nathan this long to realize that Peter had been grown up for a lengthy time. The boy'd just recently grown out of his dreamy rose-colored glasses, but the dependency on Nathan had been dead and buried.

"A cape?" Peter asked abruptly, arching an eyebrow. Nathan shrugged impatiently.

"I'll hold you to it," the younger Petrelli smirked, and he backed out of Nathan's grip.

He didn't walk into that office intending to be cheery with his brother, but it couldn't help to be on good terms with as many people as possible. After all the folks that Peter had pissed off as of the time being, he was definitely one that needed to be extra accepting on a daily basis. And the way Nathan had acted, spoken…they were all puzzle pieces that when fit together, showed an underlying truth. Nathan quite liked his ability, but was afraid of it. Too afraid of what other people would think, or what it could do to his career. It was like hiding a strong opinion or event in his past. He was not ashamed of it; simply aware of how the public would view it.

Needless to say, Peter's own view of his brother was shifted to a lighter tone after their latest conversation. With a typical goodbye, Peter slid through the front door with the thick blinds, leaving big brother to think alone.

Nathan reached for his acceptance speech and a pen.

0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x0x

Alright, here are some review replies, ya'll )

**Joanna:** Yeah, Peter's got some pretty big theories about how he explodes. But in actuality, what REALLY happens is going to be a huge shock for all of the characters, and _hopefully,_ the audience. And as far as his dark side goes, I'm trying to make it go in and out of him for now. He'll be totally good again in the very end, of course, but I want him to still remain on that teetering line for now. However, he IS over his super reckless stage.

**Mika:** Well, the upcoming Paire Smex (that is coming VERY soon, I promise) it's not exactly hot or smutty, I must warn you. I've already written that scene, and it's much more romantic and mental. Plus, a lot of it has to be cut out to fit in the PG13 guidelines for fanfiction dot net. But the full-version will be posted on LJ.

**GuavaGirl, rock-n-roll-suicide-queen, and x-soundeffects:** blushes Thanks for reading!


	20. Memory Lane and Metamorphosis

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

Yes!!! The battle is finally over! Damn guys, I'm telling ya…chapters 18 and 19 were the hardest things I've ever had to organize. Mostly because I have about ten pounds of raw, leftover crap that I had to organize and stuff into two chapters. FYI, there are two more chapters left in this story (though the next one will be about this length) and I have them both well-mapped out. Hopefully, I'll be done with this fic within the next week. Thank you for reading!

**Also, if you would like the R rated version of this chapter, rather then the PG-13 version (a lot of you asked about this), go to my profile.** The link will be listed there. )

**Chapter Nineteen**

"**Part I: Memory Lane"**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

Even though Nathan called him and encouraged him to vote at seven o'clock in the morning, Peter still harbored no intention of doing so. Today, Election Day, had been ruining his life for the past six months. There was no reason to do any service to it. Besides, if today was the last day he'd be living, why spend it standing in line to go vote? No, Peter Petrelli was quite content lounging around with Claire, trying to live out the rest of their lives together. In one day, that is.

"You've picked a good day to devote to me," Claire told him nonchalantly at breakfast, a knowing smile playing across her lips.

"It could be the last day on Earth," he agreed, half in jest, half in sincerity. He set down his waffles and took a seat.

"Or," she added, suddenly shy. "My birthday."

Peter looked up from the stack of food he was syruping and broke out into a grin. "Today's your birthday? Your eighteenth?"

"Mmm-hmm," Claire replied, absently tilting Mrs.Buttersworth upright in his hand, for syrup had started flooding his waffles. "On Election Day this year. I still can't go vote, though; not having registration, and all that stuff."

"I could teleport you to a voting booth invisibly," Peter pointed out, and Claire rolled her eyes.

"Gee, how exciting. I get to learn about democracy and all that crap on my _birthday_. That's a fun way to spend my last day."

Peter sort of felt sorry for her. Not that they had an actual intention of dying on November 8th, but there was a heavy possibility. Niki still wasn't been able to channel the dead at will. And now, Election Day was even more bittersweet. Claire officially turned into an adult, and could never even get to enjoy it.

"I really could teleport you somewhere, though," Peter offered later on, after he'd finished putting the dishes in the dishwasher. "Anywhere you want. It could be my birthday present to you."

Claire's eyes lit up mischievously. "Could we go to the moon?"

"Uh…anywhere in the _world_," Peter corrected himself.

The blonde chewed on her lip for a few minutes, pacing, while Peter simply watched her. This had been one of the luckiest situations of his life, meeting Claire. Usually, he was strung along for months with a girl before finally giving up, or admitting his feelings and being rejected. Though Claire looked up to him as some sort of white knight that she'd always adored, Peter was actually quite shy and unsuccessful. Claire once joked about how such a great guy like him (her words, not his) could have no job, no house, and no car. Peter merely chuckled and didn't even bother to explain that he quit his job to go save her, and it's not like anybody owned houses or cars in New York, anyway.

"Why don't you read my mind?" Claire suggested, moseying on over to him. She wrapped slender arms around his waist and looked up at him, chin resting in the valley on his chest.

Peter cocked his head and did as she recommended, her thoughts projecting clearly at him. Where she wanted to go was quite romantic and creative, even for a teenage girl. _Well-_he corrected himself_-not a teenager anymore…_

"Alright," Peter smiled and she knew he understood. Tied in each other's embrace, Peter and Claire silently dissolved into thin air.

When Claire opened her eyes, she was greeted by the hallway she'd seen every weekday for the past three years. That and the shining glass trophy case standing beside her guaranteed that Peter read her thoughts correctly.

"This is different from what I remember," Peter murmured, releasing Claire and turning to the trophy case. Jackie Wilcox's heroine shrine had now been replaced with a memorial for the same girl. For this was, indeed, the same hallway. Peter'd made sure of that. It was Claire's request, after all. _Take me to where we first met._

Peter was a little apprehensive at first, afraid that he would teleport in the middle of a hallway full of teenagers. Then he remembered that it was Election Day, and school was luckily out in the first place.

Giggling slightly, Claire grabbed Peter's arms and turned him perpendicular to Jackie's shrine.

"Stand right like that," she ordered, taking a few steps down the hall before facing him. "Do you remember what you said to me? When we were standing like this?"

"Life after high school gets a lot better," Peter grinned, even tilting his head to the side a bit like on Homecoming night. "I might have lied."

"I don't think so," Claire disagreed cheerfully, striding back over to him. "I like you a _lot _more then I ever liked high school."

"Even when we're being stalked by murderers and tomorrow might be the end of the world?"

Claire looked at him sincerely. "I'd rather keep the last two weeks of my life the way they've been, than live them out in a high school lie. I mean, some things I'd change, but…for the most part…I like being myself with you, and Claude…and Hiro, and everyone else. I could never do that here."

Peter understood ten-fold what she meant. Before he manifested, his life was also full of loneliness, no meaning, and hiding under falsehoods for Nathan's election. Even with danger, and torment, his life finally had _purpose _now.

"Did you ever think we'd end up like this? When we met here?" She emphasized 'here' by bumping into him slightly, creating an exact replica of their first touch.

"No," Peter confessed. "But there was something about you that I noticed. You reminded me of me."

"Really?" she asked, flushing slightly. "I just thought you were cute."

Peter laughed, but Claire's acute sense of him noticed a pink blush across his cheeks as well.

"C'mon," Claire said, pulling him along by the hand. "I want to show you some other stuff."

Her outdoor locker was the closest thing to them at the time. It was right next to Zach's, the one with the Celtic knot sticker on it, which Claire smiled upon. That was how they became friends, Zach and Claire. She needed a cameraman and she knew the owner of the locker next to hers was a film geek. After lunch one day, she casually asked for help. And that had been the start of a beautiful, but tragic friendship.

There were still books and hair pulls, and gossipy notes from cheerleaders in her locker, she was sure, and she tried to open the padlock.

But she couldn't remember the combination. Three numbers that her life used to revolve around were now gone from her memory. Peter shrugged and offered to use one of his many powers to open it for her, but she declined. Nothing in that locker was worth saving to Claire. It was all a bunch of useless, petty little things that built her up for a nonexistent future.

They were off to the front of the school next, and Peter stopped her when they were in front of the gym.

"Anybody ask about this?" he smirked, pointing to his feet. Below his boots was a large, Peter Petrelli shaped stain imbedded into the concrete. After falling five stories to his death, it turned out that Peter left a bloody souvenir on the pavement.

"Nobody asked _me_. I was only in school for a couple days before I came to see you. And mostly, I just hung out by myself, or with Zach."

Her voice faltered a bit on her friend's name, and Peter stepped in to kindly offer, "You want to go see him next?"

"I don't know where he lives, or where my family is now," she replied hopelessly, feeling slightly stupid that she didn't even know her best friend's address. "But thanks. I…I think we should probably go home now."

Peter was about to protest that they just got there, but it was her birthday, after all. Her wish was his command, and if Claire felt like they were done, then he would return them to New York without question.

A few moments later, the couple was back in apartment 1407. The sickly look on Claire's face remained, however, even when they were away from the hot sun of Texas.

"What's wrong?" Peter frowned, gently pulling Claire by the shoulders to the couch, and beckoning her to sit down by him.

Claire looked at her feet. "Nothing's _wrong_, it's just…"

Peter recognized that sad, forlorn expression and he realized what she wanted. The one person that couldn't be with her on this monumental day. "You wish your dad was here."

"Read my mind?" Claire asked with a half-hearted chuckle. Peter shook his head.

"Not this time."

Claire finally looked up at him. "I'm sorry; it's stupid and _impossible, _I can never get him back."

"It's not stupid," Peter replied, wiping away a stray tear that fell down her cheek. "It's normal. It's your eighteenth birthday. I'm sure he wants to be here too. He's probably looking down at you right now."

Claire made no reply, but she was fighting back tears as hard as she could. She'd gotten so used to putting on a strong face; she'd forgotten that it was okay to be weak sometimes. Peter wanted her to feel like she could tell him anything, not bottle it all up for his sake. After all, that had been what caused _his _downfall.

Bringing her into a comforting hug, Peter whispered as much in her ear, and Claire totally let go. Everything she'd been through, every pillar she'd held up for Peter to lean on…it all came crumbling down as Claire's body racked with sobs in Peter's arms.

As her hero and her friend, Peter would do everything in his power to dry her tears.

The sun was creeping to the lower half of the horizon, as the day was just edging into evening. One of the most memorable days of Claire's life was over halfway complete, and she felt like it only just began.

Unfortunately, a good hour of her enjoyment had a considerable loss of Peter. He'd been in the shower for a good hour and Claire was an inch away from barging in and seeing what was taking so long. Claire was not that bold, though, even if she and Peter _were _in an already-deep relationship. However, for the short while they'd been together, rather smutty thoughts had been frolicking through her mind. Oh, she'd had the occasional "I wonder if Peter's a good kisser" thoughts before, but that was perfectly ordinary. He was an attractive man, and he'd saved her life. He also happened to be a naturally fantastic kisser.

But wondering every half hour about what it would feel like to have him take her virginity was _not _regular.

Or, at least by routine. Technically, she was_ supposed_ to feel a reckless desire for only him, but it was still odd to think of him in such a light. Their relationship was so much deeper then lust and contact, and even love.

It still didn't outweigh the fact that Claire was absolutely certain she wanted him to be her first, though.

Sick of the music on her Ipod, Claire moseyed boredly around the apartment, waiting for him to get out of that stupid shower. The vanity in the bedroom tempted her as it did every young woman, and quite frankly, brushing her hair was the only amusing thing to do at the moment.

She gently combed her plastic bristle paddle brush through wavy blonde locks, staring at herself in the mirror. Green eyes, cheerful cheeks, and plump pink lips greeted her; that sad little smile that Peter always commented on exhibited clearly.

When her hair was nearly movie star perfect after several redundant strokes, she set it down on the vanity. Yet, in its place were two pieces of notebook paper.

"READ FIRST" instructed the one on top, in handwriting that she didn't really recognize. Tentatively, as though the paper might bite her, Claire picked it up and read the note scribbled inside.

_Claire-_

_See? It's not impossible. Anything for me to see that _real_ smile of yours again. _

_I hope you like it. Happy birthday._

_Love, Peter_

Claire wasn't quite sure what he meant, but whatever was on the other piece of paper had to be significant. Frowning slightly in confusion, she picked up the other folded sheet, and a familiar handwriting now greeted her.

_Dear Claire-Bear,_

Claire almost choked on a sob, right then and there, but forced herself to continue.

_Happy eighteenth birthday, sweetheart. I'm elated to be able to tell you that, after watching you grow from the little girl you were, to a beautiful, smart, young woman. You've been through so much more then you should have, but all it has really done in the end is show your incredible maturity. _

_I wish your mother and Lyle could be there with you, to celebrate, to help you on the path you have taken, but it's not worth it. Always remember: never put the ones you love at risk. Your family. Friends. Peter, who, though I barely know him, have come to think of as a son. As you may or may not have suspected, I _have_ been watching over you two lately. Peter really is a father's dream. I guess you could say I'm giving you my blessing, in a way. I know you're going to think that's cheesy and old-fashioned, because I know you, but there's nothing wrong with tradition. _

_If I could, I would save the world for you, and let you live on with your lives. All of you. Yet I cannot. It's your responsibility now, Claire. There is no shame in your abilities, just danger. Which, in a way, proved me wrong. I was so afraid that you would be hurt by others that want what you have, but in reality, you need to use what you can do to _stop _people like that. You were not given these gifts to be hunted; you were granted them to be a protector._

_I could never tell you how sorry I am about everything I did for the Company. I felt guilty every time your mother forgot something, or complained about a headache, and then bringing you into all this... just another reason why you have earned an incredible respect in my eyes for the past eighteen years. _

_Unfortunately, I've almost run out of time. I'll go ahead and let Peter come back, but not before telling you that this isn't the end. I promise you that we'll meet again some day, whether in dreams, or through letters, or here in the afterlife._

_I don't think I've ever been prouder of you, and no matter what blood says, you will always be my daughter. My Claire-bear. _

_Love always,_

_Dad_

Claire found herself sobbing again, just like earlier that day, but this time was not in despair. Tears of gratefulness and bliss cascaded down her cheeks, and she held the letter to her heart like it was a lifeline.

Peter finally emerged from the shower, fully dressed and dry, with only slightly damp, black hair to show that he'd been in the wash at all. The scent of his now regular cologne surfed the wave of humidity that burst from the tiny bathroom. Claire felt damp heat wash over her, and whipped her head around at him.

"You found it," he acknowledged, a quirky, modest, smile on his lips. The next thing he knew, he was eating honey hair as Claire threw herself into his arms with enough force to knock him over.

"Thank you so much," she breathed, still in teary happiness. What she thought was impossible, Peter had brought to life. It was so much more then his power. It was what he _did with it_. A long time had passed since Peter made someone feel so alive and full of joy. He hadn't realized how much he missed it.

"You didn't have to do this, you know," Claire sniffed, regaining control and holding the side of his face in her hand.

Peter looked at her frankly. "I wanted to. I love you."

Claire's eyes widened at his confession, and for a second, Peter was fearful that he scared her. They were moving awfully fast, but there was no time to lose anymore. And besides, Peter was one hundred percent sure of his feelings, so why not tell her? Long gone were the frets that she was simply a phase, or that he had his own bout of hero-worship. No, Claire Bennet was the real thing, the most real thing that had ever entered his life, in fact. Peter loved her, was _in love _with her, and even if without healing, would die for her.

"I love you, too," Claire replied in full honestly, leaning up to press a chaste kiss against his lips. It was a relief that he'd said it first, not that she had any shame in the way she felt about Peter. Just…Claire had never been in love before. She wanted to make sure that her emotions were genuine, and after the selfless, thoughtful gift he had just given her…

…there wasn't a doubt in her mind that she loved Peter Petrelli with all of her heart.

**Part II: Metamorphosis**

**Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

"Peter, turn on the TV!"

"What, Nathan?"

"Dammit, Pete, just turn it on, will you?! Channel three. I'm about to give a press conference."

"Press…wait…Nathan, you _won_?"

_Click. _

Still reeling from what his brother had implied, Peter followed Nathan's instructions and turned on the TV he hardly ever used.

"What was that about?" Claire asked breezily, coming out of the bedroom with the hairbrush that finally got returned to her.

Peter was busy peering at the television, hand idly rubbing the light stubble across his cheek. It took him a few seconds to reply.

"Oh! Uh, Nathan. He's giving a press conference. Guess that means he won. The losers get conferences too, but it's not like he'd want me to watch it if that was the case."

Claire plopped down next to him on the couch, curling her legs underneath her. Right after Peter made his statement, Nathan began walking up onto the stage, all his sponsors and immediate relatives behind him. Peter even spotted Marty, Nathan's personal assistant, standing by Angela Petrelli.

"You should be up there," Claire recognized guiltily. He should have been at that press conference, supporting his family, his brother, rather then devoting all his time to her and her stupid birthday.

"No," Peter disagreed emotionlessly, shaking his head. "Nathan tried so hard to push me out of the way so that he could win this thing. I have no reason to be there."

"_Good evening, New York!" _Nathan announced in a strange mix of both pride and modesty_. "Thank you all very much for the incredible support throughout the past few months."_

Applause. Cheers. Cameras. Flashes. Everyone so ignorant of this beginning of the end. Not a single person had any clue out the pending apocalypse, and Peter felt a nasty knot tie in his stomach.

Nathan was still going on with his greetings, and 'thank yous', and what not, when someone emerged from the back of the large group ensambled onstage. Peter almost rubbed his eyes in disbelief.

Mohinder Suresh was politely making his way to the podium to stand by Nathan. The freshman congressman had summoned Suresh once Act I of his speech had been completed. Once the Indian man was in his place, Nathan turned back to the microphone.

"_I'd like to introduce a geneticist and friend of mine, Doctor Mohinder Suresh."_

Peter smirked slightly at the unamused expression that washed over Mohinder's face at the word 'friend'. His brother and the scientist were more partners in crime then bar buddies. Anything for the cameras, though.

_Nathan continued. "I've brought him up here to help me explain about a very important situation that's recently been striking our country. I thought that…I should use this time wisely, to inform you all."_

Claire and Peter gaped at each other. "No _way_," the girl said.

"Shh," Peter said, holding a finger in the air as Nathan held onto their attention flawlessly.

"_There's been a…so-called 'leap forward' in evolution. Normal people, no different or less ordinary than you or me…have been manifesting certain abilities. Some are mundane, but others are completely beyond the realm of possibility. Invisibility, healing, mind reading. It's something out of a comic book, but I vow that it's starting to come to life."_

Murmurs of shock went through the audience, while Peter sat stock still, shaking his head in incredulity.

"_I'm not telling you this to scare you, or to worry you. These citizens didn't ask for this to happen to them, and they still remain to be our equals. Instead of fearing them, we should help them, if they so desire. Which leads me to what I want _really _inform you about._

"_My brother, Peter, has one of these abilities. As he discovered it, I masked his findings by saying he was mentally ill. I'd like to apologize to everyone for lying about this, but mostly…I'd like to apologize to Peter."_

Peter felt his chest tighten. The words that were coming through the speakers and the man that was saying them were so mismatched, it made his head spin. But in the end, this was what Nathan cared about deep down. Nathan's only real loves were his family and the city, which could both be obliterated within the next day.

"_Peter's particular ability is rather extraordinary, and usually harmless. But because of its power, something…devastating may or may not happen to New York City tomorrow. Now, Peter's trying his best to get it under control, and I trust him. However, there still is a possibility of disaster. So I encourage everyone to pack up and leave tonight. We _must _evacuate New York for its own safety. Take pets, pictures, anything you can't live without, and get as far away as you can._

Fearful cries burst through the audience, and rustles of the press trying to get out could be witnessed. Nathan outstretched his hands, and pushed them down, though, encouraging everyone to stay in their seats.

"_Events like this could happen again. They're unintentional, but the danger is still there. That's where Doctor Suresh has come in."_

Suresh stepped up to the microphone. "_Yes. I've discovered a 'cure', if you will, for these manifestations. The cure will remain totally optional, for the public, of course, but it is mostly intended as a worst-case scenario resort. It's too late for Peter, but if anyone has thinks they could be dangerous, we urge you to come see me, right away. We only want to help you."_

"Is this good or bad?" Claire asked quietly.

"I…I dunno," Peter replied, clueless. "Their intentions are good, but…I don't know how the public is going to react."

"What if they become afraid of us?" she shot out fearfully. "What if they lock us up and do tests on us like lab rats? Force us to take the cure?"

Peter put a gentle hand on her arm. "I doubt Nathan's gonna let that happen," he responded with certainty.

"_Let me remind you that not all these powers are bad. But my sister Shanti developed a fatal disease because of her mutation, and passed away at a young age. Shanti's condition was extremely rare, so that's not the biggest risk, but imagine having an ability to turn everything you touch into gold. Or having abnormally large muscles and being eight feet tall. Problems can be taken care of, while those who are happy can live on in peace. So far, I only have one dose in existence, which already has a receiver, but our congressman has promised me funding to produce them as needed."_

"Good man," nodded Peter, when Mohinder told the crowd that the cure already was reserved. "He remembered the deal I made with him."

Off Claire's confused glance, he elaborated.

"Niki. I told Mohinder to make a cure for her, so that she wouldn't have to deal with Jessica killing people anymore."

Nathan stepped back up to the podium. "_We will now take any questions you may have, but please keep it terse. As I stated before, we need to give people time to evacuate."_

Individualism was washed out in a sea of murmurs on the TV screen, and Peter slumped back onto the couch.

He wondered if he could finally fly, now.

xoxoxoxoxo

Claire walked up to the giant atrium window in Peter's bedroom, and opened the blinds. New York winked at her from the other side of the glass, millions of lights scattered like a galaxy.

"I never got a chance to see how gorgeous this view was," she thought aloud, pressing a palm against the window. It was a bittersweet sight. All the beauty in front of her that might not last another 24 hours.

"Beautiful," agreed Peter from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face into her neck. Claire quietly sighed, resting her head back on his shoulder as he pressed kisses in her collar.

She turned around in his arms and kissed him keenly. Peter responded with just as much fervor, biting her lip a little when she slipped her nimble hand under the back of his shirt.

But a barely-there grind of her hips against his, and Peter was pulling away as respectfully as he could. He was already more aroused then he probably should have been in the first place, so the finishing line had to be here. Taking advantage of Claire was the last thing that Peter wanted to do.

The blonde's blush went all the way to the roots of her hair, but she still found the strength to argue about this with him. "We could die tomorrow, Peter! You've said so all day! And I'm eighteen now, it's okay."

_I want my first-time to be with you... _

Peter looked at her understandingly, and she knew he had read her mind. If possible, she turned even redder.

"Don't look at me like that," she said irritably, looking anywhere but him. Peter frowned.

"Like what?"

"Like you feel sorry for me."

Peter sighed, delicately turning her face to meet his. "I don't feel sorry for you. You're only eighteen. You're not _supposed _to have a background in this."

Claire didn't think much of his pick-me-up.

_Do you even want me?_

She hated being this insecure. Claire had grown to be quite sure of herself lately, and she could tell Peter anything. This one particular subject was something they hadn't branched into yet, and it was a little unsettling. Mainly, their conversations were kept in an area that didn't really show their age difference. This, however, seemed to practically _advertise _it.

"Of course I want you," Peter told her honestly. Part of him wanted to chuckle, to show her that this really wasn't a big deal. But then Claire would think he didn't understand her concerns, which was definitely not good.

"I want you more then anything. I just make sure that…" Peter paused, looking at her seriously. "Are you positive that you really want this?"

Claire nodded and Peter didn't press her again. Knowing Claire, she'd only get annoyed at his overprotectiveness.

"If, uh…if it makes you feel any better," he added, turning slightly pink himself. "I've only done this once, myself."

"Once?But you're twenty-six, I thought-,"

But once she considered it, this actually wasn't that surprising. Peter was the sensitive, nice guy, and though he was handsome now, Claire could see him as the type that grew into his looks. And the nice, average looking guys weren't exactly known for getting laid all the time. Plus, before his abilities manifested, Peter was dreadfully timid and lax in self-assurance. He could barely even ask out a girl, let alone take her to bed. Simone had been the first woman that he ever really went after. In fact, he was already beating his own record between the first "I love you" and the first night together. He and Simone had about an hour's space between these two major events, and there wasn't even any apocalypse coming. That had been what most people called _rushed. _This was a different situation though…and at least he'd told Claire he loved her a _few _hours ago.

"Yeah…" Peter said awkwardly, rubbing his neck. "So if this ends up being…awful…it's _my _fault."

Claire giggled, leaning up to kiss him tenderly. "It could never be bad with you."

Her ego-stroking was definitely a trigger. Peter drew invisible lines up and down her jaw, teasing her lips with his tongue. Claire gasped against his mouth, only wanting to take him deeper, and mold him into her very being.

Peter gently laid her down on the bed, bruising her lips with their never-ending kiss. He eventually fell back, still able to taste her Skittles chapstick on his mouth, and began undressing. Claire removed her own shirt and jeans, leaning back on the pillow when she was down to her plain undergarments.

When she got her first eyeful of Peter completely unclothed, she knew there was no way she could resist from there. He had a shyly perfect form, precision that even surprised Claire herself. Peter bent over her, the glow of the city reflected in his shining pupils. His loving eyes wanted nothing but the best for her, and Claire blushed self-consciously in the dim illumination.

"Claire…" he whispered cautiously, already breathless. The lights of New York shone on his handsome features and Claire could read the unspoken question etched across his face. _Are you really sure? _

"I love you," she answered, confidence radiating from every pore in her body. Peter took her sureness and pure need seriously, nodding.

"I love _you_," he replied, bending down to kiss her warmly while he gently slid the cotton barrier, the only thing keeping him from having her, down her legs…

oxoxoxoxoxoxo

Gentle nails stroked through his sleek locks and Claire's other hand rubbed his back soothingly. He inhaled the vanilla scent off the nape of her neck, and kissed behind her ear reverently before rolling over. Immediately turning on her side, Claire nuzzled against him.

"I can't believe this is happening," she murmured against his chest, which was now rising as quickly as it was falling with breathlessness.

"So it didn't suck, I take it?" he asked hopefully.

Claire tittered. "No, it didn't suck. I guess you're just a natural."

Peter beamed down at her, turning on his side and pulling her as close as possible. His arms were now a ring around her waist, and his chin on her shoulder. Claire smiled back, and then bent an arm to caress his hair affectionately.

But her smile could not mask the hopeless expression on her face. Peter immediately pulled away and sat up, cupping her face in both hands.

"Claire, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did I-,"

"No," Claire assured him, letting out a small laugh. "No, you're amazing. It's just…tomorrow."

"Shh, tomorrow will be fine," Peter promised, pulling her into a gentle embrace. "Don't worry; I'll keep you safe. Sylar is _not _going to kill you, understand?"

Claire pressed her forehead to his. "It's not me I'm worried about," she whispered, gripping him tightly as if he would vanish into thin air. "What if you die, Peter? We've known that risk all along, but now it's really sunk in. You could actually _die. _I don't want to be alone!"

"I'm not leaving," Peter rubbed her shoulders caringly. "When we save you from Sylar, there's no risk that I can explode anymore. And now that we've figured out how to kill him, it won't take much for Hiro to stop time and do it. We're gonna be okay." He kissed her confidently, and her nerves seemed to be soothed for the time being.

"I love you," Claire whispered, nestling up to him once more.

Peter closed his eyes. "I love you too, Claire."

There could be no better last words for the last night on Earth.

xoxoxoxoxo

Ignorance was bliss in the mid-morning, when Peter stirred awake. Claire's petite, naked body pressed against his own bare skin, both of them warmed and covered by green sheets. There was only one time before in his life that he'd woken up to find an unclothed woman in his bed, but Simone had slept through the night on the opposite side of the mattress, her back to him. Claire, on the other hand, had every square inch of skin possible touching him, her arm slung across his narrow waist like a human belt.

He smirked slightly, caressing the curves of her side with one little fingertip. She shuddered against his touch, also coming into consciousness. When she realized what was happening to her she tutted and swatted the tickling hand away.

"Good morning, love," Peter grinned and Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly at his bad British accent.

"Please, I_ really _don't want to think of Claude. He's a total mood breaker."

"Yeah, your own father _could _be watching us right _now_, couldn't he?" Peter acknowledged, straight-faced.

"ACK! Don't even joke about that!!" she shrieked, slapping him on the arm as Peter chuckled merrily. He silenced her with a kiss, amazed that she still tasted luscious, even in the morning.

"C'mon," he groaned, pushing himself over to the side of the bed. "Get dressed. We have to go save the world, remember?"

"Great," Claire said flatly. "And I thought Claude was a killjoy."

xoxoxoxoxo

Fifteen minutes later, they were full of Eggos that had been wolfed down as fast as possible, and Claire was fully dressed. She emerged from the bathroom, her hair in a simple ponytail to hide the light greasiness in it. Had they been given more time, they would have showered, but Peter wanted every second possible.

Peter was already ready from the waist up, an undershirt, and blue dress shirt on, but he was still in the process of pulling black jeans up his legs. Claire felt the tension and the haste in the air, as Peter grabbed a pair of Converse from his closet and started tying them on. He usually chose heavy, leather, boots, but those always took forever.

The doorbell rang, and Peter and Claire frowned at each other.

"It's me!" hollered a muffled voice from outside the door. But whoever 'me' was still unrecognizable.

"I'll go answer it," Claire announced, letting Peter finish putting on his sneakers. She looked through the peephole, and a heavyset, loveable looking brunette man was idly standing in front of 1407.

Without hesitation, Claire pulled the door open, inviting Matt Parkman inside.

"What's up?" Claire asked. "I thought we were all meeting at Isaac's."

"Oh," Matt replied, shrugging. "I'm just rounding everybody up, you know."

Claire looked over at Peter, expecting him to have done getting ready by now. However, the young man still sat on the end of his bed, one shoe with untied laces, and a harshly thoughtful expression on his face.

As soon as Claire had opened up the door, Peter's 'spider senses' so to speak, went off like a Geiger counter in Hiroshima. It was a rush of power, familiar power that came waltzing into the apartment, like whenever any mutant came in contact with him. Peter had gotten used to the ability by now, and could spot who was who from his mental radar. Claire was a bright red. Matt was a dim green.

Peter knew something was wrong when he saw Matt was bright grey.

Parkman smiled down at Claire, and then looked across, into the bedroom.

"Mornin', Peter," he grinned, winking, because he _knew _his secret had been exposed. And he also knew that it didn't really matter, because he was here, in the apartment, two of the most ultimate prizes within a fifteen foot radius of him. Peter stared back into the eyes of Sylar, and knew that all his plans failed in that one moment, before they even had a chance.

Sylar was going to kill Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

xoxoxoxoxo


	21. Judgment Day

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything!**

**Chapter Twenty**

"**Judgment Day"**

**Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet, and Gabriel 'Sylar' Gray**

**Peter's Apartment, Lower East Side**

Sylar was going to kill Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

But at least Peter could _try_.

'Matt' still stood leering at him, and then turned back to Claire. The girl was acting oblivious, but Peter could sense a caution flag buzzing in the back of brain. Sylar was acting relatively natural towards Claire, making Peter's stomach boil. He took a deep breath, still trying to remain in control, for that was the key.

It was essential to do this carefully. Leaping up and attacking with brute force would be suicide for the both of them. Peter had to play the ignorance card this time. Stand up, act casual, and pretend that he had no idea that he was about to die.

"Hey Matt," he smiled offhandedly, getting up from his bed. "What's goin' on?"

Before Peter could even inhale another breath, Sylar lazily threw a hand forward, sending him careening backwards, smashing right through his own atrium window. Claire cried out his name and tried to rush into the bedroom, but barely made it two feet before she was pinned to a wall.

"Not so fast," Sylar grinned, his hand raised in her direction. The heavyset form of Matt Parkman gained three inches, spiky brown hair, and a lean, lanky frame. One month ago, Claire would have freaked out at seeing one person shift into another, but nowadays, nothing surprised her. She was much too preoccupied with seeing her life flash before her eyes, and all the other stuff that supposedly happened when you die. This was the real thing though, she knew, not temporary death like all those other times. Isaac's paintings had foretold it all along, yet even preparation could not stop it. Claire, however, had no regrets. The last night of her life had been spent with the man she'd grown to love more than anything.

After all, even though Claire was crucified to the living room partition with invisible nails, all she could think about was Peter.

Sylar was mildly disappointed in the loss of the empath as well. He had, in actuality, no intention of throwing Peter fourteen stories, but that's when you get throw telekinesis all over the damn place without aiming. But it's not like Peter would _die, _or anything, so it really wasn't a loss. Just another hunt for another day.

Why cry over spilt milk when you had a bowl of ice cream in front of you?

Claire was shaking like a leaf, her world turned instantly upside down like a snow globe. Sylar approached her, a nasty, hungry, smile across his face. With each step forward that he took, Claire recalled another memory that altered her life. Five feet away. "_You're adopted, Claire." _

Four feet away. "_Your mother is pregnant. You're gonna have a baby brother! Isn't this exciting?" _

Three feet away. _Peter._ _"Hey, uh…do you know this girl? Jackie Wilcox?"_

Two feet. She could feel Sylar's body heat now, feel his bloodlust, but the images and memories played on.

_Brody's car smashing into the wall. Jackie waving that stupid cheerleader outfit in her face like a popularity flag. The first time she ever saw The Haitian._

"_Your name is Zach, right? Could you help me with something? I need a cameraman for something…"_

_Laying eyes on Peter Petrelli. "You're totally my hero."_

_Hands on her waist, wrenching her out of the truck's path. That voice rasping her name._

_Peter asking her what her favorite color was, on the rooftop. Yellow._

_Taking that blow from Claude's bowstick for him. Talking all night in the 'secret clubhouse.'_

_Pulling him out of the bathtub as he breathed life again. Flying over New York and feeling his muscles._

_Sobbing in his unconscious arms. The first kiss against the moonlight... Every single kiss since then._

_Peter's warm, bare body hovering over hers and admiringly kissing her neck. They felt ecstasy as one._

"_I love you, Claire."_

Though it had taken barely a couple seconds for Sylar to push her against the wall and walk over to her, all the thoughts and comprehensions made it seem like infinity. Claire's eyes were glistening now, knowing that she'd never see Peter's crooked smile, that silky hair, that lovely face, ever, ever again. Perhaps only in heaven, with an eternity to wait. Sylar's hand was now clenched around her throat, a pointer finger directed at her skull.

Sylar tutted. "Shame I have to kill you. What a lucky guy Peter was. You really are a pretty girl. Just like the girl I took the illusion power from when you all were playing X-Men."

Claire ignored him, and was now getting to a point where she wished that he'd just get it over with. For a second, she was fearful he got to Matt too, for he seemed to have read her mind. A sharp feeling began on her left temple…not quite pain, since Claire couldn't really feel pain…but more like a scraping sensation.

Claire screamed Peter's name, because she wanted that to be the last word out of her mouth, for the entire world to hear.

Xoxoxoxoxo

It took Peter three seconds to even realize that he'd just gone through a window and was falling to his death. Brief death, but still.

Once Peter had regained his thought process, the world started to move in slow motion. A million trains of thought launched in one instant, rushing along their tracks. Human instinct was taking over Peter's brain, and all he could do was sit back and watch.

_Sylar is up there with Claire. Alone. _

Oh God, oh God, oh _God, no. _This couldn't be happening. But it was just like in Isaac's painting, so it HAD to be. Peter would make it back up to his apartment to find the broken glass window, and a beheaded Claire lying in a pool of her own blood. The very vision made Peter want to vomit then and there, 100 feet off the ground. Now it was just a war between his consciousness as he plummeted closer and closer to the pavement.

_That painting's about to become a reality if you don't do something! Fly back up there and save her!_

_But…but I can't fly! _

_Yes, you _can. _You know how you feel about Nathan now. _

Peter concentrated on those feelings, fought against his racking nerves, and twenty feet before he hit the ground, he found himself slowing to a stop. Eventually, he was just hovering, levitating parallel to the second story.

Grinning, Peter uprighted himself so that he floated more or less a standing position. He internally thanked his older brother for begging him to watch that press conference, for that speech had solidified Peter's feelings about Nathan. The congressman proved himself a good man, and Peter was proud to call himself Nathan Petrelli's little brother.

"PETER!!!!!" came a yell from above him that sounded more like a war cry then a distress call. He immediately shot up in the air to go to Claire's aide, slowing until the shards of broken window outlined his frame.

"Get the hell off of her!" he snarled, tearing Sylar away from Claire with a flick of his wrists. The villain fell backwards over a couch with a loud "Oof!", and Claire slipped down the wall into a heap on the floor.

"Claire!" Peter breathed, sprinting over to her. The bloody gash on her forehead healed quickly, leaving only a streak of red behind. She squinted at him through bleary eyes.

"Peter? Are you…?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he sighed and smiled in relief, trying to help her up. But the battle was not over yet. Sylar got up like he hadn't even been hit, a still-smug smirk on his twisted mouth.

"Thanks for saving me another hunt," he sneered, glee twinkling in his eyes. Anger raged in Peter, and this time, he didn't even give Sylar a chance to throw a punch. As soon as the words were out of the fiend's mouth, Peter had him dangling over the edge of the broken window. If Peter let go, Sylar would fall to the ground with unpleasant consequences.

The rage and power that coursed through Peter's veins was just like when he trashed the Deveaux building. However, it was being channeled now, controlled. Peter no longer let reckless fury take over his body; he used it to defeat his enemies.

With no Hiro or sword in sight, Peter would have to end this himself. He moseyed on over to the edge, where floor met freefall, and stared at Sylar bitterly.

"Any last words?" he growled. The soulless mask on the watchmaker's face contorted back to its original smugness.

"I've got a trick for you," Sylar husked, breaking away from Peter's bonds and shooting up into the air.

The first thing that went through Peter's mind was that Sylar had snatched Nathan. But Sylar wasn't flying nearly as fast, and his movements were much more rigid. Peter experimentally pushed against the ground with telekinesis, and to his emotional liberation, his feet lifted a couple inches off the ground.

Sylar "flew" off as best he could, throwing a taunting look over his shoulder. Peter headed to where Claire was, words coming out of his mouth so fast that she barely heard him ask if she was okay.

"Call everyone, okay? Tell them to follow me and Sylar from the ground. I'll try to contain him to one spot, and then we can all bombard him at once." He hastily licked his thumb and rubbed it across Claire's forehead as he spoke, wiping away the blood there.

"You're going after him?!" Claire exclaimed shrilly. She'd just gotten him back after thinking she was going to never see him again. There was no way she could handle Peter's life at risk again.

"I'll be fine," Peter assured her as tenderly as he could in the hurriedness of the moment. After pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he grabbed his trenchcoat, and started sprinting towards the opening in the window. As soon as the ground ended, Peter's body soared into the air, shooting after the villain they all feared.

Claire still shook from the pure rush of all that had just happened before her eyes. She'd had several brushes with death itself, but it was the near-death experience she'd just confronted that scared her the most. Swallowing the past two minutes and picking herself up off the floor, Claire whipped her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in _the real _Matt Parkman's number.

**Nathan Petrelli and Mohinder Suresh**

**Petrelli Mansion, Manhattan**

Peter seemed to be touched by an angel lately, having been able to save Claire and himself. _Because _of this, if his speculations were correct, he wouldn't explode either. It only got better, as Nathan was at the first place Peter looked: their family mansion.

The eldest Petrelli brother was in his peach-walled study, speaking about their latest agenda, when a harsh rapping came from behind them. Peter stood outside, in the rose bushes, desperatly banging on the glass with his fist.

"My God," Mohinder cocked his head. "What on Earth is going on?"

Frowning in bewilderment, Nathan unlocked the clasp on the casement and pushed the window open like a saloon door.

"Peter, what are you doing? Why didn't you just use the door?"

His brother was out of breath and gasping out a reply. "It's Sylar. He came to the apartment and tried to kill us, and he got away. I've been chasing him, but look- Nathan. You've gotta…you've gotta fly to my apartment, and get Claire, okay? She might have left with the others by now, but she'll be following me from below."

Nathan was still utterly confused. "What the hell about Claire? So I find her and then what?"

"Get her away from this mess. Take her to Isaac's loft, and stay there, both of you. You both need to be away from us and Sylar. If I lost either one of you, I don't know what I'd do."

"And the others? They're just going to _fight?_" Nathan asked incredulously, and Peter was slightly surprised by his sibling's selflessness.

"That's what they've been trained for. And listen, Claire's going to say anything to change your mind, but ignore her. She's stubborn, and she'll want to help me. But you have to promise methat you'll keep her safe. Nathan. _Vow to me _that you'll do this."

The congressman nodded slowly. Here he was, taking orders from the little brother that he held a good decade on in age and wisdom. Yet, the headship, confidence, and desperation in Peter's being all mingled together to form a man that was meant to be a leader. It was always his destiny, but he was too overshadowed by Nathan for anyone to notice.

"Be careful," Nathan whispered, resting a palm against his brother's face. Peter and Nathan were always more physically affectionate then most siblings, even for Italians, but the tenderness of this gesture made both of them shiver a little.

"I love you, Nathan."

"Love you too, Pete."

Mohinder stood back, feeling out of place while watching their familial interactions.

Peter sniffed, hardly audible, and he slipped out of his brother's arm length. It felt like all he was doing today was saying goodbye the ones he loved, off to a war that could not be won. It was most assuredly paranoia, seeing as they were all trained, they outnumbered Sylar, and Lady Luck was on Peter's side. But the last battle was still embedded into Peter's brain; more burned then the body of Claire's father, Bennet.

Peter flew into the clouds once again, leaving his brother staring at sheets of blue and pillows of white above him.

"Mohinder," Nathan announced, turning around and facing the professor. "Get in your cab and drive to Peter's apartment. Pick up everyone, and trail Peter. You'll all be faster by car."

"But Nathan-!"

Mohinder's protests were overlooked. Remembering what Peter had instructed him to do, Nathan followed suit, flying into the air. Protecting the object of Peter's affection was now a mission that Nathan had every intention to execute.

**Claire **

**Centre and Canal Street, Lower East Side **

Having exposited Peter's intentions to Matt on the phone, as she impatiently rode the elevator towards the ground floor, Claire was now ready to search the skies for Sylar and Peter. Parkman was staying in the same hotel as Niki, and they were to meet Claire together. Just as Claire was about to call Hiro, the Japanese man teleported beside her.

"Whoa," Claire reeled back, suspicious that he may have been Sylar in disguise. "How did you know to come here?"

"You call me," Hiro said cheerfully. This was actually five-minutes-in-the-future Hiro, so in that moment, there were two Hiros walking the planet. In a few minutes, everything would catch up to itself. Claire didn't really care how the time-space continuum worked, though. All that mattered was another helper by her side. Unfortunately, all the help in the world couldn't save her from the next crisis.

Nathan Petrelli landed softly in front of her.

"Let's go," he said immediately, wrapping his long arms around her frame. Claire pushed him away indignantly.

"No way! I'm helping them! Peter told me to!"

"He said you'd say that," Nathan replied bluntly. "He told _me _to get you out of here."

Claire's jaw dropped. Offense and annoyance washed over her features and the name of the one she loved came out in a hiss. How _dare _he control what she did? If she wanted to help him, she should be able to!

"He's trying to protect you," Nathan sighed. "Don't make this hard."

Fuming, Claire tried to turn away, but Nathan was quicker. In one fluid movement, he picked her up off her feet, and shot up into the air.

Hiro looked around, having no clue where to go from there, when a yellow cab pulled up in front of him. An Indian man poked his head out of the window.

"Are you with the others?" Mohinder asked quickly, and Hiro's clueless expression turned to one of confidence and serenity. He pushed his glasses up his nose coolly.

"My name is Hiro Nakamura, and I am here to save the world."

**Peter and Sylar**

**Somewhere over Manhattan**

It wasn't long before Peter caught up to Sylar, a few thousand feet above Central Park. The upper hand that he had on his opponent was hypersonic speed, a talent only accessed with real flying. Now, he just had to usher Sylar to wherever their team could meet the quickest.

"I was gonna give you a chance, you know?" Sylar taunted over the howling wind. "Live a couple more days with your girlfriend before I come back and take your abilities. But since you're so persistent…"

His large hand was clutched around Peter's throat in the blink of an eye. Fighting against the searing dizziness, Peter concentrated all of his negative energy into one burst. Hate, anger, fear, adrenaline. It all was mixed into a ball of fire and fury in the pit of his stomach. With a loud yell, he let it all out, pushing Sylar out of the sky with a huge blast of telekinesis in every direction.

Sylar's eyes widened as he plummeted towards the rapidly approaching earth, and he managed to catch himself before impact. Now, it wasn't just about getting Petrelli's ability anymore. _The silly brat thinks he has what it takes to kill _me? _What a fool…_

Peter watched Sylar shoot back up to his level with anticipation. The trash talking was over; time to lead the horse to the glue factory.

"Hey Sylar! Catch me if you can!" Peter hollered, jetting off as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He zigzagged through skyscrapers, Sylar unable to keep up the pace. But he wasn't quite trying to evade his enemy, so he slowed his speed by just enough to equal Sylar's own.

The landing spot Peter was looking for came into view. A pile of broken wood and wire was still piled in the back corner, but the Deveaux Roof was otherwise intact. He detested the spot, and it reminded him that he was a murderer, but that was what he needed right now. Rage, wrath, passion. He didn't even worry about exploding anymore, because Claire was alive, and safe, and that could keep him grounded in even the most dismal of circumstances.

His feet touched down on the concrete roughly, and he looked over the ledge to see if his peers had arrived. Not quite yet, unfortunately, and Peter wondered if he'd have to do this alone. It couldn't be _that _hard to take Sylar's brain, could it?

A rough club on the head broke him out of his reservations. Sylar made his landing as well, already trying to beat Peter to a pulp with the broken pieces of bird cage. Blow after blow slammed the empath in the face, stomach, arms, _everywhere. _Perhaps the hardest part of killing Sylar alone would be actually _getting _to the madman in the first place.

Once he was able to think straight, Peter started blocking some of the hits with his mind, much to Sylar's infuriation. The watchmaker fought back with an even stronger fervor, and the bruises started to take longer to heal. Peter had gone from confidently powerful to heinously losing, and if his allies didn't arrive soon…

Rather he didn't think about that.

**Mohinder and Hiro Nakamura**

**Manhattan Streets**

Mohinder Suresh was the most unpopular taxi driver in New York, mostly because he was a 'five miles under the speed limit' kind of guy. But on November 8th, he seemed to be channeling Mario Andretti.

Swerving through nearly empty streets, for Nathan's evacuation orders had left the city about seventy percent abandoned, Mohinder murmured apologies to Hiro for all the near-misses. It wasn't a ghost town by any means, but there were luckily enough people off the roads for him to make his way around with almost no accidents.

Sylar and Peter were visible from the ground, and Mohinder assigned it as Hiro's "job" to watch after them. Yet they came to a disagreement when they spotted the brawling men landed on the Deveaux Building.

Hiro ordered for Mohinder to go get Niki and Matt, who were still at their Brooklyn hotel. Mohinder, however, said that was much too far away, and if they went to go get the others, Peter would be a goner. Hiro slumped in his chair, wishing he hadn't sent Ando back to Japan. Sidekicks were good to bounce ideas off of in a time like this.

"Do you know where they are, exactly?" questioned Mohinder rapidly. Hiro shrugged.

"Rose Mar-kwee hotel. I don't know where dat is."

"5th and Chestnut," replied Mohinder automatically, his Brooklyn living arrangements coming in handy. "Can you teleport there and pick them up?"

Hiro was reluctant at first, but realized what Ando would tell him. _A hero never runs. _

"I try," Hiro said, and he dissolved into thin air.

Mohinder closed his eyes and counted to himself, hoping to God, or Vishnu, or Allah, or whoever was out there that this would work. _One…two…_

He felt the cab jiggle a little, and when he opened his eyes, Hiro was back in the passenger seat with an accomplished grin on his face. Two people Mohinder had never encountered before, presumably Matt and Niki, were in the backseat looking slightly bewildered.

"You might want to buckle your seatbelts," Mohinder muttered, and he slammed his foot on the gas.

**Claire, Nathan, and Isaac**

**Isaac's Loft, Lower Manhattan**

Isaac didn't exactly seem happy to entertain visitors when Nathan came storming in with Claire, but when he heard the situation, he gladly invited them in with open arms. In fact, on sight of seeing Claire slightly bloody, but alive, he beamed and clutched her shoulder tenderly.

Claire, though grateful for Isaac's care, had other things on her mind.

"Nathan, you have to take me back to them!" she cried fiercely. "I'm indestructible, I'll be fine! If Peter starts exploding, he needs me!"

Nathan did not reply, but just stood there, staring out the window. His eyes hadn't left the horizon since they walked in.

"But I thought if you were saved today, he wouldn't explode. Save the cheerleader, save the world," Isaac frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't think that's why," Claire whispered. "I don't know; I just have this awful feeling that something bad is still gonna happen to him."

"You're just anxious, Claire," Nathan replied, forcing himself to remain calm while his emotions were equal in gale. "He's got back-up to help him with Sylar. You'll see him again soon."

"He's your brother!" Claire screeched, grabbing Nathan forcefully by the arm and turning him to face her. The older man looked surprised at the violent gesture. "How can you just look out the window and _hope _it's okay? Don't you even care about what could happen to him?!"

Nathan turned to her and sighed, considering putting his hands on her shoulders. But he refrained, for he knew Claire would just push him away.

"I love my brother just as much as you do, Claire. And that's why we need to respect his wishes."

"And since when do _you _take orders from him?"

Nathan's strict features hardened even more, and he did not answer her. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the New York skyline, hopeful that Claire's paranoia was in concern rather then foresight.

**Mohinder, Niki, Matt, and Hiro**

**The Deveaux Building, Central Park**

The four strangers, forced together through fate and disaster, emptied out of the taxi cab in the front of Charles Deveaux's apartment complex. Niki, Mohinder, and Matt stared up at the high walls hopelessly, but Hiro was already in motion.

"Teleport-o to roof!" he exclaimed, grabbing the other two metahumans on the arm. Mohinder was left by his cab, pulse racing.

He barely heard Hiro ask, "You come too?"

"Uh…," Mohinder shook his head. This was the stop for any simple geneticist/cabbie. He'd fulfilled his role in the grand design of things, and it was time to let the others take over.

Hiro nodded once, and the three allies disappeared.

Once up on the roof, they were immediately caught in a maelstrom. Peter lay crumpled on the ground, still fighting back, but losing quickly. Niki approached Sylar and pulled him to the ground. It wasn't much; without Jessica's super-strength, Niki wasn't exactly a weight lifter. But the distraction allowed Peter to at least get to his feet.

However, Sylar now approached Niki with an angry desire. The thin woman's eyes widened as Sylar's tall frame blocked out the sun from her vision, eclipsing light with his silhouette.

"Hi there," he smirked.

A sharp sound cut through the thick, slow motioned silence. Hiro held his gleaming katana in confident hands now, as Peter caught Matt's mental cue to pin Sylar down.

Sylar fought against Peter's telekinesis as he saw Hiro and the blade rushing speedily towards him. White noise flooded his mind and he roared, turning harsh eyes towards the telepath whom he'd taken the form of earlier that day.

"Do it!" yelled Peter to Hiro, grimacing against Sylar's defiance of his powers. His sneakers slid backwards against the concrete, failing the game of mental tug-of-war.

Hiro took a deep breath and held his sword like Tiger Woods getting ready to swing at a golf club. On swift movement, and the top of Sylar's head would slide right off.

But Hiro hesitated, and Sylar seized the opportunity.

With a vigorous bellow, Sylar lifted his arm and pushed all of Peter's energy against Hiro. The sword, followed by the Japanese man himself, went soaring over the side of the building. Hiro barely managed a surprised squeak before he was thrown into peril.

"No!" Peter cried, jumping over Sylar to fly after his friend. It was just Matt and Niki now, against an extremely miffed bad guy.

Even that didn't last very long. Niki was pulled into the cracked greenhouse, leaving Matt and Sylar one-on-one. The fiend was too happy to lose another opponent that he didn't give much thought into what actually happened to Niki.

The blonde's cry was muffled against the unseen hand clasped across her mouth. After a few moments of contact, the hand materialized in front of her and relaxed its grip.

"Claude?" she breathed, turning around to face the mentor. "What's the deal?"

"They're dying out there, just like I thought they would," Claude declared bluntly. "It's time to use your ability."

"I can't! I couldn't ever channel anyone, remember?" Niki hissed back. Claude looked at her cynically.

"Times of stress bring out unknown intelligence. Pretend that's your son out there getting pummeled. Would you be able to do it _then?_"

Claude was not kind to her as he usually was; he was stern and non-nonsense, the same as how he treated his other pupils. His words stung her, as she imagined Sylar coming even within ten feet of Micah Sanders.

"I'll try," she muttered desperately, and Claude left her to go help Matt.

"Get up," snarked a familiar voice from beside her. Jessica glared from one of the small greenhouse windows, dressed in sleek black.

"Leave me alone!" screamed Niki, slamming her hand against the glass. "I know why you're doing this!"

"Oh really?" Jessica arched a challenging eyebrow. "If you really knew, you'd be able to use your stupid power by now, _Niki_."

"Shut up," Niki shook her head, backing away. "You're trying to hurt me."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Figure-it-out!"

"I can't!"

"Stop saying that you can't and just do it!"

Niki slammed her hand against the reflective surface again, and it shattered, cutting her hand. She winced, and brushed tiny pieces of glass out of her wound, slowing as it dawned on her.

_The mirror. _

That was it. Jessica had been trying to tell her all along, but she was too afraid and too stubborn to listen. The mirror, or glass, or whatever surface she could see herself in was some sort of portal. A portal to the other world, where she could access the souls of the dead.

Niki inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and pressing both palms against the greenhouse wall. Several dusty panes stared back, and she pressed her forehead against them. Niki Sanders was not the type of woman that anyone ever depended on. She wasn't _important. _This type of pressure was heavier then any burden placed upon her frail shoulders, and all she could really do was implore.

"Please," she begged, and stared into the surface, watching her own beseeching eyes gaze back.

Meanwhile, Peter was having an internal battle of his own while trying to save Hiro. The time stopper himself was falling headfirst, reaching longingly for the sword, with Peter right behind him. If that blade hit the ground, there was a chance that it could break, and their entire plan would go ka-boom (hopefully not literally). But if Hiro wasn't caught, then they'd have a death of a kind-hearted, innocent young man on their hands.

So Peter was unusually quick and crafty. Zooming down to grasp Hiro around the waist, he opened a palm in the sword's general direction, pulling it into his hand.

"I think this is yours," Peter said dryly, awkwardly handing Hiro back his samurai sword. Hiro took it gratefully, almost giddy after being unpredictably saved.

Peter shot back up towards the roof with Hiro in tow, landing gracefully in the middle of the porch. Matt was trying to hold Sylar off with mental static, but it quickly became an inadequate defense. Instead of collapsing under the telepathic pulses, Sylar was giving Matt a taste of his own medicine. Soon, all Matt heard was ticking, chiming, clockwork in his head. He collapsed onto the ground, groaning and pressing his temples.

Then, Peter spied Claude emerging from the greenhouse, only half surprised that the invisible man joined their company of misfits.

"Claude! Where's Niki?!"

Before Claude could answer, the blonde emerged from the greenhouse, looking slightly bewildered but tough all the same. At first, Peter's gut wrenched and he assumed the odious Jessica had returned. But there was something different about this version of Niki. Strength burned through her pale blue eyes, and when she spoke to Peter, it was in a thick, New Jersey accent.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded. Her face softened as she took in the sight of Claude. "Claude? Whatcha…"

"Tammy," Peter gasped. "Niki did it! She figured it out too!"

"Figured what-," Tammy began, but she was cut off by a scrap of flying wood that nearly hit her in the head. Hiro had Sylar distracted by teleporting to different spots around him, inciting a frustration in the killer.

"I'm an empath, like you," Peter exposited hastily, pulling her aside. "That guy is Sylar. We're trying to kill _him, _but we need your help. Absorb his telekinesis and help me hold him down. I'm not strong enough to do it alone."

Tammy seemed willing, though dazed. "Why are you trying to kill him? Why should I even help you?"

Claude crouched beside them, touching his last student on the shoulder. "Trust me, love. We'll explain everything later."

The word of a friend persuaded her, and Peter pulled her out with him to face Sylar.

"Now!" he ordered, thrusting himself forward and holding Sylar down with all the strength he could muster. When Tammy understood what he wanted, she pressed forward as well, making Sylar utterly pinned down. Unluckily for them, Murphy's Law had to come into play yet again.

Peter saw a glowing redness out of the corner of his eye and glanced at Tammy. Though she was successfully helping in the effort to restrain Sylar, she had a little problem of her own. Niki's body glowed and burned, throbbing like the core of a bomb, and that's when Peter finally understood how it was all going to go down.

His body was on fire too.

"What are you doing?!" he screamed at her, and Tammy glared back, that annoyance in her gaze again.

"You think I'm doin' this on purpose? It's that bastard of a boy that my daughter left with. I absorbed his power before he killed me with it, and I never learned how to control the damn thing!"

The color drained out of Peter's face, and he remembered the story Claire told him weeks ago. How her house burnt down, and the 'exploding man' responsible for it.

"What was his name?" Peter bellowed over the roar of radioactivity.

"_WHAT?"_

He shouted out the question again, and Tammy answered just as he suspected she would.

"Ted Freaking Sprauge, that was his name!"

Meanwhile, Hiro was trying to approach Sylar and cut out his brain, but the burning heat from both Tammy and Peter kept him away.

"I cannot get close enough!" Hiro cried. "Pet-ah! Kill Sylar!"

He tried to hand Peter the katana, but the tip of the sword softened and bent as soon as Peter took it in his hand. Letting go immediately, as to not damage the sword even more, he turned back towards Tammy and Sylar.

"Keep holding him! I'm going in!"

Tammy nodded, and Peter took step by strenuous step towards their nightmare. It could all be over in one quick slice…

"Get out of here, both of you," Claude ordered Matt and Hiro. "This could get mighty ugly!"

He waved away both of their incensed protests, and after seeing how close Peter was to finishing Sylar off, Hiro grabbed Matt's shoulders and teleported him away.

Peter forced his arm up and stretched out his fingers towards Sylar's forehead. The watchmaker sat, wordless and dumb, his chocolate eyes never blinking as Peter Petrelli drew a sharp line across his forehead. It was the ultimate karma, to die the way his victims had. Added to Peter's scorching glow burning the flesh right off of his bones, Sylar was in more excruciating pain then he'd ever experienced. Yet, Tammy Gallagher's hold was too strong, and he couldn't even scream.

Peter fought back disgust as Sylar's skull was finally separate from the rest of his body. Closing his eyes, he jerked his fingers to the side, focusing on removing the brain from the rest of the monster. And right after, when Peter _felt _Sylar die, saw his bright grey aura flicker into nothingness, he knew they'd finally won.

Until he was reminded of the little exploding problem.

**Isaac, Claire, and Nathan**

**Isaac's Loft, Lower Manhattan**

"Claire," Nathan began quietly. "Come over here. I think you need to see this."

He hadn't left his spot by the windowsill, and it finally earned its worth. Out to the north was a gleaming patch of light, slightly hard to see in the morning sun, but still visible. It was pulsing, on top of a building most likely, and Claire knew there was only one possibility for the phenomenon.

"Oh my God," Isaac whispered, gawking at the spectacle. "He can't be-,"

"Peter," she choked, pressing a hand against the glass. "How can this be happening?"

Nathan moistened his lips. "I dunno, he said he'd have it under control."

"Well I guess not!" Claire spat hysterically. "_Now _will you take me to him?"

It took Nathan a New York minute to make up his mind.

**Niki, Claude, and Peter**

**The Deveaux Building, Central Park**

"Thanks a million for your help, but you really need to let Niki come back now," Peter stammered at the woman, knowing they could get at least one radioactive person off the charts.

Tammy bowed her head once in acceptance of his plans, and Niki came back with a large intake of air. She fell to her knees in exhaustion, prompting Claude to rush over and carry her to the back corner of the rooftop. He held an arm up to his face to shield his eyes from Peter's glowing radiance.

Peter turned to face his comrades. "I don't know how to control this," he said softly, shaking his head and clenching his white-hot fists to try and stop.

"Calm down! Think of Claire!" insisted Claude. "That always helped before, didn't it?"

Not this time. Rather then the sweet musings of a lovesick puppy like most of the Claire-centric thoughts had their basis in, now, they were worries of death and despair. Claire burnt to a crisp from the radiation, all of her new allies dead. Buildings in the city blown out like milk bottles at a carnival game.

So Peter tried another tactic by using his own power against himself. He tapped into Sylar's cryokinisis and tried to freeze his skin, but fire conquered ice this time. The layer of frost barely stayed solid before it melted and blew away, off to be acid rain somewhere. Those intense thoughts he had to churn up to be able to kill Sylar were sticking around, and until he could calm them, the burn would remain.

Then, the deus ex machina that Peter feared finally arrived. Nathan landed in front of him, with Claire in his arms.

"I told you to stay away!" he snapped at his older brother.

"Claire's the only one that can end this. You know it, Peter," Nathan replied smartly. It was, indeed, fact. Claire was the sole person that could soothe his soul, make him feel truly cared about.

Nathan turned away, stepped over to Niki, and cradled the half-awake blonde.

"_Nathan_?" she asked in disbelief, peering up at him with fatigued vision. The congressman nodded tersely.

"Let's get you out of here," was all he said before bending his knees and flying off, Niki held in his strong embrace.

And then there were three.

Claire wasted no time in throwing herself into Peter's arms. She ignored the tingling feeling of pain, the blindness, the heat. She ignored the knowledge of her clothes being melded to her skin, and her hair burning away like fuses. She simply lost herself in the same plane as Peter, where they both used to roam alone and bumped into each other in between slipstream. Two souls finding each other in a big dimension, but they _knew _they were meant to be together from the very beginning. It wasn't hard a hard thing to realize when they lived in their two person world.

Peter pulled her away so he could see her at arms length, and his heart nearly shut down. All her skin was peeling away, fresh patches regenerating, burning, and then regrowing again. There was no way she could last forever like this; Claire was undoubtedly dying.

_Save the cheerleader, save the world. _

And then, it all clicked for _real. _

He had to save Claire one last time: for the world, for New York, and for him. Ironically, the only thing that could allow him to do so was Claire herself. It was a perfect circle, and thinking back on providence, and the events that led up to midday on November 8th, fate's schematics were a flawless design. If Peter didn't fall in love with Claire, New York would be doomed.

It was destiny in her most complex, but basic form.

Peter fell to his knees, still ablaze. Claire held him to her breast and pressed charred lips into his hair, bending to whisper endearments in his ears.

"Claire," he moaned, clutching onto her for dear life. "I can't-,"

"Shh, just breathe," she whispered, stroking his back relaxingly, just like after their union the previous night.

Everybody had a part to play in this game. Niki, Claude, Isaac, Nathan, even Mohinder! Unfortunately, some people's roles were to die, like Simone or Mr. Bennet. Yet Peter was certain, that if he had the chance to look back on it later, a seemingly meaningless and ordinary event could be the last supporting piece on the unstable Jenga tower of time and space.

_Save the cheerleader, save the world. _

She was more then just a cheerleader now. She was more then just the girl that hadn't been watching her way on Homecoming night and bumped into the boyishly-haired stranger in the hallway. Claire had a name and a personality, but most significantly…

…she had love, and that was Claire Bennet's act of contribution to God's plan.

Her devotion tamed the fire inside Peter's soul before, and today it tamed the inferno licking across his physical being. Peter's breathing returned to normal and the radioactive glow withered away like Sylar's life. But Peter was still here. Choking and shivering before passing out on the Deveaux building's roof, but he still _was, _unlike the decapitated mongrel behind him.

All Claire could do was wrap her arms around his wiry frame, and weep in silent happiness, for it was _over. _There were no more twists, or unseen predicaments. The world was finally saved, Sylar dead, and Claire could go back to just being a girl.

Well, just a girl with superpowers, mutant friends, an invisible bio-dad, and an adoring lover. But different wasn't necessarily bad. It was just like Zach told her an hour before Peter Petrelli walked into her life. You have to embrace your inner freak.

Claire felt warm arms wrapping around _her_, and Claude's image glimmered into the visible spectrum. He stroked her hair and held both Peter and Claire in a loose grip. Though she loved Lyle and Sandra, this was her family now.

It was her dad's last word of advice: _Don't put the ones you love at risk. _Of course, Peter had tried following the same advice, which would have been dire, but Claire was already involved in the chaos. Lyle and Mrs. Bennet were innocent, and didn't deserve to be pulled into Claire's extreme life. Who knew when the next Sylar could come pop up? No, Claire's life was changed forever now, and there was no turning away from who she was- from who _any _of them were.

It was time for all of them to start anew, together.


	22. Encore of Empathy

Dislclaimer: I don't own anything, for the last time! )

But I also have a particular review reply to a review I recently got by **swart.** I'd like to say that the accusation of me 'going out of my way' to keep DL and Micah out of the main plot was because I have a problem with interracial couples is ridiculous. I SHIP Niki/DL, and I think they're pretty much the cutest family ever. The reason they don't play a main part is because I really had no where to put them. I like small ensambles rather then casts of thousands, and having to find a particular purpose for every character. Looking back on it, I would probably cut Matt from this story too if I ever edited it, because I feel he didn't really do much. There's no need to throw characters in there that sit around and do nothing.

**Epilogue**

"**Encore of Empathy"**

The combined funeral for Noah Bennet and Simone Deveaux was held on a Sunday, and lucky enough to have crystalline blue skies. After all the motley crew had been through, the least the deserved was good weather to honor the fallen.

Bennet's body had never been recovered, but Isaac buried his love in an unused field away from the city. This is where he and the others stood today, a tiny ensemble of those who barely knew the deceased, but recognized the consequences of good intentions. Niki sent Hiro to teleport her son and husband out to New York. Apparently, both DL and Micah were also abnormal in the DNA department, adding on even more to Peter's archive of abilities.

Matt, Nathan, Peter, Claire and Hiro completed the group, standing in a row to face two cross-shaped stakes in the ground. Isaac spoke before them, giving a eulogy about Simone that he started breaking up in about halfway through. Niki and Hiro wrapped him in a comforting embrace, as Claire felt Peter squeeze her hand.

He looked down at her and softly asked, "You want to say something about your dad?"

"I dunno," Claire shook her head. "I probably should, but I don't really know what to say. All my life he was apart of the Company and I'm not sure who he really was."

"Say what you feel," Peter advised simply, brushing a lock of her hair back. Claire smiled up at him, and then walked forward to her foster father's cross.

"Everyone?" she asked timidly, and eight pairs of eyes met her in response. "I just wanted to say this little thing about my dad."

Claire had everyone's undivided attention, even Isaac with his bloodshot eyes.

"Well…," she began. "I think that a lot of you, when you first met him, thought he was a bad man. For a while, I thought he was too. But then he proved that he cared about his family more than anything and I was apart of that family. Even though they adopted me…or really, I was _given _to him…he took me in and he just…he was my _dad_. He didn't care that he and mom didn't make me; I was still-_am _still his daughter, and…" Her voice caught in her throat, and Peter felt wetness glistening in the corner of his own eyes while watching Claire try to keep it together. "I just…miss him and hope he's proud of me."

Solemn murmurs of agreement came from her small audience and Claire was out of things to say. She stepped away from the makeshift grave marker and walked into Peter's arms, gratefully accepting the chaste kiss he pressed into her hair. His polo shirt would probably be stained with her silent tears, but Peter didn't mind. What she needed now was comfort, and he'd be heartless to deny her that.

Niki kneeled in front of Simone's grave, staring into her compact mirror. Peter frowned slightly upon the sight, but realized what the young blonde was attempting. The notion of seeing Simone again, even through another person, chilled him to the core. How could a killer talk to his victim post-mortem? Talk about awkward.

The medium was successful, however, and within a few seconds, Niki stood up as a new woman. She turned inquisitive eyes onto the crowd, one at a time. A little confused frown at Micah and DL…a slight smile at Hiro…a terse blink at Nathan….and at last, she spotted Peter, on the end, with his head bowed.

"Peter," she said gently, padding over to him. The man lifted his gaze up to meet hers, and recognized Simone's expressions on Niki's face.

"I'm sorry," were the first words he whispered, and Simone shushed him with a finger against his lips.

"It was a mistake," she acknowledged. "I'm not mad at you."

Peter nearly exhaled as one giant chip was finally lifted from his shoulders. All the forgiveness from others, all the forgiveness from himself…it helped, but the one person he needed to hear it from was Simone. Now that the fire was extinguished, he felt lighter, happier, more like his old self almost instantly.

"I did love you," Simone continued, stroking his face fondly. Though Peter knew it was his former flame, seeing Niki in front of him, telling him these things was still a little odd. "But it never would have worked, and though I'm thankful for what we shared, I'm glad we've both moved on to better things." She beamed down at Claire, and the cheerleader finally felt a little bit of acceptance for the departed art dealer.

Simone left Peter, and then arrived at Nathan, the next familiar person in line. "I've been watching you too. Congratulations on the election." Nathan shrugged politely and accepted her courteous handshake.

Isaac was in for a shock when Niki gracefully slid her arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. DL beat the world record for how far somebody's eyebrows can stretch up their forehead, and he uncomfortably looked away. Matt glanced huffily at Peter from over Claire's head.

"Lucky bastard," he muttered, prompting a grin from Peter.

Simone-as-Niki pulled away from the painter, clutching his face as Isaac buried his hands in her hair.

"Simone," he choked, gritting his teeth to fight back the tears.

"You're gonna be okay, baby," she replied, stroking his mane of unruly brown hair. "If you ever need anything, I'll be there, okay?"

Swallowing hard, Isaac' nodded, his eyes still tightly closed. Seeing Niki there, rather then Simone, would only ruin the magic.

After kissing him once more, Simone drew away to go stand by her own wooden cross. Isaac had scrawled _Simone Deveaux _across it in his comic-book handwriting, eliciting one last smile from the spirit before she let Niki return.

The mother starting weeping before Simone's cross, and DL crossed over to her, cupping her cheeks.

"Niki?"

She looked upon her husband through vision blurred with tears. "I heard every word."

Xoxoxoxoxo

The funeral ended with hugs and goodbyes, for it was time for the parting of the ways. Matt had a wife and unborn baby to attend to in L.A, while Niki and her family were off to Vegas to start a new, debt-free life. Nathan's new career called for a move to Washington, D.C, and Hiro, personally, was less then excited about returning to Japan and his desk job at Yamagato Industries. But it's not like they could be superheroes forever. Real life had to rear its ugly head at some time, and that time had come.

However, Peter remembered that he still had one last heroic act to offer.

After Matt nearly broke Niki's back in a bear hug, Peter approached them. He touched her lightly on the shoulder and cocked his head to imply that he wanted to talk to her alone.

"Listen, I know I talked to you last week about the cure, right?" he started, walking along a grassy path with her. Niki stopped him, and looked him in the face seriously.

"I watched the press conference. They said they found one."

"Yeah," Peter nodded. "I gave Mohinder my DNA sample so he could finally get it made, under one condition. And was that was…that you would be its first receiver. You said Jessica was ruining your life, so I figured that you needed it the most."

"I know what I said," Niki replied slowly. "But I think...I don't mind it so much anymore. Jessica's gone now, and…to be able to do for you guys what happened today at the funeral…I want to be able to help people like that. So..."

Peter thought about her words silently and Niki mistook it for offense.

"I mean, thank you so much for the offer, but…" She took a deep breath. "It's just not what I want anymore."

"No problem," Peter replied after a beat, smiling a little. "I think I can find someone that will take it."

Peter found the invisible man at Columbus Park, feeding pigeons. He approached the park bench from behind, surprising Claude when he plopped down on the wooden seat.

"You didn't come to the funerals today," he noted, watching the little pieces of stale bread fall from Claude's fingers to the birds. The mentor shrugged glumly.

"I hate the things," he replied gruffly. "They're depressing as all hell."

Peter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, since you weren't there, you missed me talking to Niki. She turned down the cure."

Claude finally looked at him. "So what now? Gonna give it to your bro?"

"Nah," Peter shook his head, a crafty grin showing his straight teeth. "He wouldn't want it either. See, I had this idea after I dropped by Mohinder's to pick up the actual treatment."

He reached into his worn messenger bag and pulled out an injection full of yellow liquid.

"I thought you might want it."

"Me?" Claude scoffed, and arched an eyebrow. "And why would I want it? I couldn't steal stuff and is that thing even tested? I could turn inside out and explode for all you know!"

"Stop trying to talk yourself out of it," Peter rolled his eyes. "I know this is what you really want. You've wanted to be visible for sixteen years. And Claire's dad is dead now…she needs a father in her life. You said that the reason you couldn't be there for her all those years was because of the invisibility. But you can be seen now!"

He thrust the shot into Claude's palm and pointed to the underside of his elbow. "Right here; inject it slowly. Mohinder said the results might be a little jolting at first as your molecules change, but it's only for a bit."

Claude stared at the syringe blankly, as if he couldn't decide whether it was filled with marshmallows or rust. Both men said nothing through the thick tension, and Peter shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Just think about it okay?" he pleaded quietly. "Claire's birthday was last week too, if you need any more motivation."

Claude's expression didn't change, but he did pocket the injection like Peter wanted. The offer was tempting, but could he really walk back into the real world after sixteen years of absence? The practical things aside, Claude had no real friends, no job or possessions, not a lot of money, and no set living arrangements.

_But you get all of those things if you went visible…_

"You know where we're staying if you want to get in touch or something…"

Peter moistened his lips and then walked away uneasily. He could have made the biggest mistake of his life. Claude, the poor bum, could hawk the cure for thousands, or the treatment could have some sort of flaw that would kill the British man. Out of thousands of worst case scenarios, there was only one good result they were aiming for. Judging the odds made them seem dangerous and real.

Peter tried to think about how professional and trustworthy Mohinder was, instead.

xoxoxoxoxo

With their shattered bedroom window, Peter and Claire couldn't exactly return to their apartment. So, while it was getting repaired, they crashed at a room in The Liberty Inn. The familiar hotel reminded Claire of how far she'd come. Claire started her journey in this very complex, with the cute bell boy named Frankie and a search for Lewis Rushton.

The day after the funeral, both of them lay naked and tangled in cool bed sheets, the early sun beaming through the blinds.

"You know, morning sex was even better then I thought it would be," she grinned down at Peter. He flipped them over, pinning her down playfully, and using the opportunity to kiss every inch of skin he could access. Claire squealed and fought back against his loose hold, getting free enough to bring his lips from her shoulder to her own mouth.

He slowed almost instantly, relaxing his grip and slipping his hands down to caress her curves. She moaned against his mouth, running her fingers through his messy hair. Peter pulled back suddenly, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Claire…I can't believe I'm asking you this, but…"

He rolled over, lying flat on his back, and Claire sat upright in the bed. Concern distorted her pretty features and she rested a gentle hand on Peter's arm.

"What is it? You can ask me anything, you know that."

"Yeah, but it's kind of superficial and weird."

"I was a cheerleader; I think I'll understand superficial."

He smiled slightly, before remembering what he wanted to inquire. "You'd love me no matter what I look like, right?"

Claire bit her lip. "You're not a 500-lb old guy with leprosy disguising your true looks, are you?"

Peter snorted. "No. Besides, if I could look anyway I wanted, I'd make myself into Brad Pitt."

"Brad Pitt's ugly."

"Fine. Some other really good looking celebrity you like."

Claire mused. "Hugh Jackman. But remember, Sylar stole those shapeshifting abilities from someone and I bet you absorbed them."

Peter sighed melodramatically. "I guess this means you're gonna force me to look like Hugh Jackman whenever I'm with you from now on?"

"I love you the way you look now," she replied shyly, kissing him on the corner of the mouth. "But if you don't really look like Homer Simpson, what do you mean? It's not like you can ever get wrinkles, or disfigured or anything."

"That's sort of what I was talking about," Peter admitted, getting up from the bed and putting on a white bathrobe that was slung over the firm hotel chair. "If I was scarred…"

Dread started to flare up in the pit of Claire's stomach. "Peter…what are you doing?"

He ignored her and stepped into the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Claire grabbed a robe as well, and followed him into the lavatory.

"Remember my dream, where I saw Sylar as my reflection?" he inquired, and she nodded immediately. Peter continued his vague explanation.

"I used to be so afraid of that. Sylar in the mirror."

He raised a finger so it was above his left eyebrow, and then brought his hand straight down. A red cut created from Sylar's maiden power of telekinesis shone from Peter's forehead to side of his chin.

"Peter!" Claire screeched, whipping him around to face her. "What, are you gonna go all emo on me now? Heal that!"

He turned back to his likeness on the other side of the glass, turning his face to view the scratch better. Blood was pouring from it, but Peter looked past that, concentrated on the wound itself. He slowly knitted the skin back together, drawing the thin lines of blood back into his body. But as soon as the cut stopped bleeding, he discontinued the healing. Rather then a smooth strip of skin on his face like it should have been, a white sliver of scar tissue sliced down from his forehead and across his left cheek.

Peter turned back to Claire. "But it's different now. I want to see Sylar every time I look in the mirror. I want to remember all the things I've done, so none of it ever happens again. Sylar and me were a lot alike, I think. He just didn't have someone like you to save him from himself."

Claire gave him a 'have-it-your-way' sort of look, before wiping off the little bit of blood that was still splashed on his cheek.

"Do you think it'll hurt when danger's coming, like Harry Potter?" she asked sarcastically, running a smooth finger down the length of said scar. Peter almost smirked.

"Let's hope it'll be a while before we find out."

He bent down to kiss her, but a loud rap on the door diverted his attention. Claire moved to answer it, but he stopped her.

"After what happened at my apartment, maybe I should answer the doors from now on."

"You're so overprotective," Claire sulked. Peter finished the kiss he planned on giving her as a peace offering.

"I'm your hero. What do you expect?"

He moseyed out of the bathroom and checked the peephole. To his surprise, Claude stood in the hotel hallway, beard shaven and tawny hair neatly combed. Frowning in total bafflement, Peter opened the door and invited him in.

"Claude? I didn't know there was a man under all that hair," he ribbed, closing the door behind him.

Claude wore nothing more formal then Peter's daily attire. Just a white dress shirt with nice khaki slacks, with, most notably, a totally clean-shaven face. His usually wispy bangs were side swept and gelled, giving him a sleek, younger look. Claude looked about ten years younger, and proved to be quite a handsome man.

Claire poked her head out of the restroom, eyes widening. "Are you…Claude, are you visible?"

A small, genuine smile crossed Claude's features. "I ein't touching you, am I?"

"Oh my God!" she cried, closing the gap between them with her arms around his waist. He chuckled, and courteously pushed her away.

"You look great! Where'd you get all of this stuff?" she rambled, gesturing to his new clothes.

Claude shrugged. "A little place called Ralph Lauren. I made one last theft before taking the cure your loverboy gave me. I've got enough money to last me and you for quite a while."

"Until you have to get a job," replied Peter bluntly.

"You gave him the cure?" Claire cut him off incredulously. Peter said 'yes' nonchalantly, and now _he _was feeling the full force of a Claire-Bear Hug.

"What's that on your face?" Claude squinted, and pointed to the scar. "That wasn't there yesterday." His eyes dropped down to their matching bathrobes and he winced. "And you're shagging my daughter now, too. Fantastic. At least tell me the former and the latter have nothing to do with each other."

Peter put and arm around Claire protectively. "They don't. The scar is just a reminder for me. As far as the _shagging _goes…"

Claude pointed a finger so close to Peter's nose, that the young man went cross-eyed. "She gets pregnant and you're marrying her, savvy?"

"I get it, Captain Jack," Peter said innocently, prompting Claude to glare back. Claire, meanwhile, was reddening furiously at the thought of Peter getting her pregnant. Even still, a pleasurable squirm followed the blush. Fantasies whipped through her mind of her in a gorgeous white dress, walking down the church aisle on Claude's arm to meet Peter at the end. Them married, newlyweds, expecting a baby, with children, growing old together without aging a day…

It all seemed so natural and _right _for her to elope with him and start a beautiful family. Of course, with the way fate worked for _them_, their eldest son would probably have a destiny of savior of the universe, or The Slayer, or the one that will bring balance to the Force. Plus, at age eighteen, Claire wasn't exactly ready for that sort of thing, but eventually…

_I know what you're thinking about_, a familiar voice said in her head. She set her embarrassed green eyes on Peter, who looked down at her with a cocked eyebrow and a smile. _I personally think he'll end up being the Slayer. We haven't dealt with vampires yet. Could be cool._

_Or it could be a daughter, you know. That would be way cooler if she was all kick-ass and stuff._

_Yeah. But we'd have to keep her away from the leather stores, because I really don't want to be Peter the Overprotective Daddy. _

_Hypocrite. _

_Well, I never said anything about not being the Overprotective Husband. _

_Please tell me that wasn't a proposal. You didn't just propose like_**that** _did you? _

Peter shrugged and winked at her. _You'll know when I do. _

Claude gave them a funny look, for he'd been totally out of the mental conversation, as Claire bit her lip giddily and snuggled against Peter even closer. One of Peter's last thoughts to her kept replaying over and over in her head like a stuck record.

_When. _

Fin.

And that's it! I'd like to thank ALL of my reviewers oh-so much for their support because honestly, without you guys, I would have given up on this story long ago. But you were my rock and my motivation, and I really hope you tag along with my next endeavors!

Speaking of which, I've already got new stuff in the works ) I may put up a novella, only 5 chapters or so, called **The Remedy of Kin** throughout the rest of July. Depends on my boredness and ambition.

However, I'm already deep into the outline for the next, _all new_ 'epic', I guess you could say. Probably to be named **Partial Eclipse. **It's sort of under wraps right now (my BFF is begging me for details, and I usually tell her everything, but this time, it's totally confidential, heh), so I can't tell you _much,_ but I WILL say it's six years after season one, in a future that we've _never seen_ before. Like, Sylar and Peter live together and stuff. It sounds like a crackfic now, but I promise, there's a reason for everything, and I plan on keeping it as canon and in-character as possible (with the exception of Paire, which will START canon, but I'll worm out of it as most do wink)

And before I get any questions, NO, I'm not planning on writing a sequel for The Dark Sentinel. This has run it's life, I believe, and the only way I could really make a sequel is if I have an idea for an epic that would just happen to fit in with the TDS universe as well.

Thank you, again, everyone, and I'll be seeing you soon!

-rtwofan


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